Uchiha no Bōrei
by BlindJesus
Summary: Senju Hashirama hates miracles. No, he really does. They just complicate everything. Not that Uchiha Madara was what most people would call a miracle. But you have to call him one when he managed to survive what he did... #World Building, #HashiMada Forever, #Fuck Mito! (Rewritten 1.23.19)
1. Prologue

Uchiha no Bōrei

PROLOGUE:

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is one giant trigger warning. The pairings include a !hurt/comfort HashiMada, and !goodlittlebrothers TobiIzuna. There is Mito!Bashing!. This is a co-written piece between BlindJesus and MadaSasu. This piece has been double updated and should be read again from the beginning. Lots of edits as of 01/23/19. Basically this is absolutely a fanfiction for adults only. #angstyuchihasaregreat (****HashiMada**** indicates perspective change)

I hate miracles. No. I really do hate them. They come into your life, completely out of the blue, and they mess up everything. And everyone goes on about how it's great, and I should be thankful, and I need to live up to all the fortune I've had, but I don't wanna.

All I want to do is scream into my pillow, which I can't do right now because I'm outside, and then cry for a while alone in my room. Is that too much to ask? I just had a HUGE disruption in my morning routine and I'm not sure I'm capable of functioning at peak efficiency here. Damn It Madara!

It has been three years. Three fucking awful years. I've worked super hard for the stability in my life.

I have a girlfriend, who's currently texting me every minute or so, probably asking who the Hell is the scary guy who just walked into the base, but I can't answer. And I can't answer, because said guy, because Madara the lying, stupid, idiotic, reckless, beautiful bastard was dead.

He went out on a mission… and none of the team ever came back. He wasn't even the only one we had no remains of for the funerals. Small, expertly-placed, IEDs blew the whole sorry group of them into nonexistence.

I still wake up sometimes with the taste of that dusty air in my mouth. I still wake up sometimes expecting to see long black hair tangling with mine. I still fucking wake up sometimes and forget he isn't ever coming back to me… So now what do I do?

The asshole just wandered into camp with a rifle in one hand, a few grenades attached to his belt, and a burger he stole from a new recruit in the other. What am I supposed to do now? The army therapist never gave me Self Help books on how to deal with the fact that my dead lover came back to life.

****HashiMada****

Pulsing, painful, blistering heat never, _EVER,_ gave itself up to shade. The sands stayed hot even after the sun went down, and then all I had was the fucking cold ass moonlight.

I had a direction that I was told to go by a half-crazed man back at my last position, so I walked. Wherever I go there tends to be half-crazed men… usually beneath my boots with my pistol in their mouths.

I more than expected, the large base in front of me, which I've been tracking and trying to find for the last month and a half, to be simply that. To be a place of half-crazed men that would eventually be dead beneath my boots. But no, those places weren't like this. They weren't clean.

Everything I dreamt of for years, still dream of, was right there. I guess that was the reason I didn't pause, didn't stop, didn't hear the orders given me.

It was _just_ bright and loud, yet I couldn't hear what came out of the mouths of soldiers who seemed to be yelling. It was too much. Besides, I didn't care.

I just raised my guns at them instinctively and thought, _I have enough ammo to shoot them…_ they weren't moving out of my way, and I knew what I fucking wanted. Them getting in my way wasn't it.

This place used to sound so joyful. Even with the sound of gunfire and copters in the distance it was always a good place. But it's too much now, too open, too exposed, too… different.

That albino brat would shoot at the toes of rookies, the Genin would try so hard to hide the fact that they were sloshed before walking right into a wall, and the mechanics were always bitching that they weren't driving a tank.

But there wasn't one sound, the one I actually wanted to hear. He wasn't bellowing at the members of our teams, cursing as he lost at snack food poker.. again. His absence, and the presence of so many strangers was too much to take in.

The smell was just too damn tempting, and it was kind of fun, no, it was fucking satisfying, to see the recruit practically shit himself when I snagged his burger.

I'd stolen food from people hundreds of times, usually they laughed about it, but no one was laughing now.

I had one mission, my last mission, and I was going to finish it. I was disgusting, I smelled ,and as I walked these jackass, spiffy clean, never shot a fucking rifle, kids pointed their guns at me while I needed the water they were blocking me from.

I fired a warning shot in the ground, and Tobirama, for once in his life, did something useful when he told the little fuckers to back up.

Right there I allowed myself to drop the bag and pistol, keeping the large automatic weapon in my free hand, in case they changed their minds. Then I walked inside, ripping into the delicious piece of meat,

Hell I didn't care if it got soaked; I just needed food. I'd have used bleach if I found any, the chemical poisoning be damned. But, I settled on the closest bar of soap and boiling water to scald my skin.


	2. Ghost of the Uchiha

DISCLAIMER:

Injuries that require description of gore. Mito!Bashing. #goodboyHiruzen (NAME) is change of perspective. ALSO REALLY FREAKIN' LONG CHAPTERS.

 **(Tobirama)**

It had been over a month since Senju Tobirama had seen foreign troops on the edge of his base's encampment. But as he peered down into the valley through his scope, he saw a figure, clad in dusty rags, heading toward the main entrance. He took a moment, pulled back from his rifle, blinked, and then leaned in again to take a second look.

 _No Full Moon insignia on the breast, but he's not carrying a white flag either._ Tobirama observed. _Likely hostile._

The man's hair was extremely long, and black tangles were blowing around his face in the gusty winds. His shadowed onyx eyes were set straight ahead, assessing the number of soldiers at the entry gates, even noting Tobirama's position on the tower. And he always had a firm step forward, no hesitation, despite the number of guns leveled at his chest.

That kind of cockiness in an ambassador, or a deserter from the other sides was unusual. And most don't come waltzing in with a Jonin's amount of artillery. _There's no way this is an ambassador_ he thought, as Tobirama grabbed his walkie.

"Hey… You see the guy heading toward you down the middle of the line?" he asked once the crackle of interference had died down.

"Yeah we've got him in our sights."

"Okay" the Senju said, "Don't shoot, I'm coming down."

"What? Why? We've got this sir." came the polite, but ruffled reply."Don't—"

"Shut up Newbie. You're not even a Genin. You don't know shit."

And with that Tobirama was running down the stairs, jumping over a ledge, around the hallway, and vaulting down onto the ground floor of the base's East Tower.

The man was still about a hundred yards away when Tobirama came to stand next to the teenagers unlucky enough to have drawn morning watch. "None of you saw a drop off?" he asked taking stock of the livid, still red and inflamed, scars on the man's neck and shoulders.

"No sir" Utatane Koharu said with a respectful nod. "We noticed him rounding the Eastern Pass at the same time you did. He's neither picked up or discarded any equipment."

"Fun fun." Tobirama said to his student. "He gets no further than the gates without my say." The others nodded, the four young teenagers at least had enough training not to balk at orders twice.

Tobirama's eyes swept up and down the man noting the boots he wore were a size too big, the pistol in his hand, and the rifle slung along his back. _What the hell why hasn't he fired already?_ Tobirama thought suspiciously.

There was no fear, absolutely none, in the man's expression as the soldiers leveled their own guns. There was just cold hard determination, a fixed state of Fuck with me and I end you. permeating each of his movements.

 _No missing teeth; someone wanted to keep him pretty—_ Tobirama's heart skipped a beat, then another, and another.

"Holy Hell" was all Tobirama could say at first, as the haggard man met his gaze.

 _Your hair,_ he thought staring, _I found bloody strands of it embedded in the dirt._ Tobirama blinked hard, hoping to push away the crazed assumptions his mind was trying to make. _Splinters, there were burned shards of bone all over the ground. Someone, someone blasted you to pieces.._

But, when Tobirama opened his eyes, the man that could not be there was still walking toward him. "Mother Fucking Hell." Tobirama muttered, trying to organize his thoughts. _This morning you were dead. But, you've the proper height, same skeletal structure, same stupid hair._

"Hold your fire." Tobirama finally said, motioning to his men, "Stand down."

"Sir?"

"I know him." Tobirama said, mind reeling, as the man moved forward, completely ignoring the soldiers next to him.

One of the teenagers asked "Who is he?" with a wary look toward the armed stranger.

"Shh" his student hissed, shoving the younger teen in the side.

"Kid" Tobirama responded to the teen while giving Utatane an approving nod. "you don't have enough clearance."

The man's gaze didn't soften even when he stood only a few steps away from him, nor did he lower his gun, but there was the smallest nod of a head. "Shower." He demanded his red eyes glinting.

Normally, people didn't give Tobirama one word answers unless they wanted to be mocked for days, or have an embarrassing childhood story brought up in front of all the female officers during break. But as he saw the red stained pants, mud-encrusted boots, and hollow cheeked face of the starved man he decided to let it slide.

Motioning toward the wide-eyed rookies Tobirama said "Hmm, Utatane's in charge." Then silently he followed Uchiha Madara while his student barked out orders behind him.

It seemed as if the two men were going to get to the barrack showers without causing a scene after the Uchiha had waltzed into the camp, but then one of the soldiers on break jumped up from where he and some others were eating lunch.

"Fucking shit" Tobirama said to himself as Madara stole and tore into the young man's burger with a feral hunger.

"Who the fuck-" the soldier started to ask, but the rest of his question was drowned out as Madara, the stupid, dramatic, asshole of an Uchiha fired a "warning" shot into the ground.

"Enough. Not now! Let the man through. Ignore the gun fire! This is an order." Tobirama called out as Madara dropped his bag and pistol. The bag's material was sun-bleached and frayed at the straps, and if Tobirama tilted his head just right he could see a full moon embroidered at the corner. Enemy uniforms he realized vaguely curious as to when Madara might've learned to sew, and with metal wire no less.

"Koharu-chan" Tobirama said to his student who, as she so often did, had shown up right when he needed her, "Get everyone out of here. If any kids or Genin ask tell them to fuck off. Any Chunin or higher have them message me."

The brown-haired girl nodded, giving a small salute before running off. "Yes Sensei." She said, and Tobirama was thankful for the quiet as she made the crowd disperse.

"Okay" he said to himself, "Now the harder stuff." Stretching, Tobirama leaned back against the door to the showers, satisfied for the moment to hear nothing but the sounds of Madara's movements beneath the water.

Madara might get the dried blood off, but that was it Tobirama knew. That slight hesitation as he put weight on his left foot probably indicated more fractures and sprains, maybe even repeated dislocation of his hip or knee. "Hey" Tobirama said a moment later, his radio to his ear, "Sarutobi."

"Whaa-" came the sleepy reply. "Oh, oh Senju-sama, sir. Hello."

"You know how I said you had the day off? You don't." Tobirama said, listening to the frantic bumbling of the young man on the other line. "Get your ass over to the Med Building."

"Darn. Sir, why does the world always end on my day off?" Hiruzen asked calmly. "What is it this time, invasion, Zombie Apocalypse?"

Glancing toward the partially open door of the showers and seeing Madara's gaunt shadow arching across the floor, Tobirama answered. "The latter actually."

"Oh shit" Hiruzen squeaked. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

"Just tell the staff to have a morphine drip, scalpel set, tongs, tweezers, some bolt cutters, and restraints ready for when I get there.

"Got it." Hiruzen said without any hesitation. "May I know who the zombie is?"

"Uchiha Madara" Tobirama said before ending the call, so he could begin writing a coded message. "Ugh, okay" he said letting out a breath. "Here goes nothing."

"Old Man,

At approximately 1400 an unknown was seen crossing the eastern ridge. Myself and Squad 3 were at watch and I identified this person as Uchiha Madara. His injuries are severe. He shows obvious signs of starvation, numerous broken bones that were mended by someone, this indicates to me that whoever held him wanted him alive, able to communicate. However, it is unclear at this time whether or not he gave up sensitive information.

He has six sizable lacerations: one at the jointure of neck and collarbone, one on each wrist and ankle- from chains most likely-, and another along his midriff, but as of 1410 I have not had time to more closely examine him. My students Utatane Koharu and Sarutobi Hiruzen have been keeping Uchiha's name quiet, and have notified the medical personnel that I will be examining Uchiha shortly.

Will write another message after his physical.

PS. Get someone nice to call Uchiha-sama and his son. You suck at that. Maybe Kaasan?"

But, before Tobirama could click Send the sound of pounding feet caught his attention. When he looked up there was a swirl of mahogany brown hair flying around his aniki's face, a hopeful light flickering in the man's eyes, and a muscled arm reaching out to shove Tobirama aside.

"Whoa there" Tobirama said as Hurricane Hippie blew in, "No one is going-"

"Who let him in?" Hashirama demanded while trying, but failing to manhandle his way past his otouto "Argh, quit it. I've got to see him. Kami, how'd he even get in? Why's he—"

 _I'm going to kill whoever told him about this._ Tobirama thought as he grabbed Hashirama by the shoulders and shoved him back. _Slowly_ he promised himself. _Yeah very, very slowly._

"Why is he in there alone? He's gotta be hurt. Why aren't—"

"You're not going to sit down if I ask are ya?" Tobirama asked shaking his head slightly as Hashi spluttered through his frustration. "It'd be better than falling on your face in front of the kids." He added, grinding his teeth, as a new crowd started to form, brought toward the showers because of Hashirama's flailing.

Hashirama shook his head, sending a half-hearted punch toward Tobirama's angular jaw, "Just answer my questions Toto."

"Well… I was minding my own business, taking my turn at watch, when I saw something strange. There was this tiny black thing walking toward the base. There wasn't enough dust clouds for a horse, let alone a transport."

"Okay, I've got to make sure he's all right. Have you even checked him for injuries yet? Why isn't he in the Med Tent?" Hashirama asked voice full of frantic concern.

"Checked him for injuries yet?" Tobirama asked with a roll of his eyes. "His lips were chapped and bleeding. There's a yellow tinge to the whites of his eyes. Despite the temperature he wasn't sweating. Madara is severely dehydrated. How long was he walking? I don't know. I won't until the Medical Unit's ready Hashhi."

"You let him walk in here? Why didn't you get a gurney? Did you even give him any water?"

"Ugh, Hashi stop making a damn scene in front of the kids." Tobirama muttered exasperatedly. "If we just act like ADULTS and act as if this is a totally normal part of our day we might not freak everyone the fuck out."

"They're stupid, not blind. They know shit hit the fan." Hashirama said scowling.

"Yes, because the highest ranking officer currently on base is acting like a fucking moron." Tobirama replied, not moving an inch as Hashirama shoved against him.

"A little empathy would be appreciated Toto. He just walked into camp?"

"Basically. I didn't see a drop off through my scope. He just came around a corner and there he was, guns and his crazy hair blazing." Then Tobirama did crack a small smile. "When he's done cleaning up we'll figure this shit out."

Hashirama nodded, and Tobirama wished to Kami, to anything, that Mito wasn't running toward them. "Hashi." she said, slightly out of breath, "I just heard. Jesus Christ did he really fire on some guys?"

"No." Tobirama answered, putting a hand above Hashirama's shoulder, letting it hover there, a barrier between Hashirama's pounding head and the world. "He fired at the ground."

"He still fired" Mito shot back, tendrils of red hair escaping from her bun, "Only reason why I didn't run over here with a fucking grenade launcher was because one of those kids he shot at showed me a picture he'd got of Madara as the asshole ran off."

"Really?" Tobirama asked shooting a withering look toward the red-haired woman, "sure it wasn't because you can't fire a gun?"

"He didn't run off. Toto escorted him to the showers." Hashirama said, speaking over Mito's protest. "And Madara's not the kind" Hashirama started to say, but he stopped with a lost expression dawning on his face.

"Sweetie" Mito said, ignoring Tobirama's hand, and looping her arms around Hashi's waist. "We'll figure this out. Hopefully he's got a reason for deserting us."

"Was probably captured." Tobirama put in, completely monotone, "Or tortured, then captured, and tortured again. He's bloody enough for it."

Hashirama turned his head around and glared. "Weren't you supposed to be comforting me or something?"

Tobirama shrugged, "Gotta toughen you up for what you might be hearing." was all he said as Hashirama stared, eyes glossy.

"That" Mito said, kissing Hashirama full on the lips. "isn't necessary. Hashirama's more of an adult than you'll ever be. He's fine."

"I called him sensitive, not immature." Tobirama said with a smirk as he gathered up Madara's belongings and stepped into the shower building.

 **(Madara)**

Madara managed to bring pale fingers through his blood-soaked hair, reveling in the feel of sand, dirt, and gore falling away, while he stared at the shower drain. It was difficult to choose which was the most satisfying… it was a toss up between his eyelashes finally being free of that dried blood, and no longer having the remains of some unnamed enemy beneath his fingernails.

Eventually deciding he just enjoyed every bit of his now clean body, he washed his face and drank hot steaming water from the tap. There was noise coming from outside the showers, and Madara knew it was probably, no definitely, about him, but he couldn't care. He was clean and that was all that fucking mattered.

He could now see the ivory of his skin, no longer smudged with grime and dust, but that meant he could also see his scars. Was he ashamed of them? Was he nervous about how the others would react? No. No, he wasn't.

Even a war-toughened veteran would cringe at Madara's tracery of injuries; there were just so many. Not to mention the fact that they weren't stitched up with thread, or any kind of sterile material. Small metal pieces poked out from his arms and legs, where Madara had deemed them, not life threatening, so he'd left them there, only bothering to wrench them out if they seemed like they'd be moving inward, toward his organs.

The sounds outside became louder, closer, as Madara stared at the door, not bothering to search for a spare uniform, reasoning that if his rags had held together this long, that they wouldn't fall to pieces before he got to a bed. The scars were signs that he'd lived, that others hadn't, that he had survived the worst the world could throw at him. Madara would not hide away. Besides, there were ones, like the mangled bit of flesh around his jugular, that no one would ever be able to disguise.

That one too was stitched with a thin string of metal that didn't completely manage to close the neck wound. There was still a small hole, above his collarbone, where, if it was quiet enough, you could hear the whistling sound of Madara's breathing.

"Bed." he said as Tobirama pushed the door open, the sight of his bright white hair making Madara blink.

"Did you lose your ability to say please out there?" Tobirama asked with an acknowledging nod.

"Hn." he grunted as an afterthought, one that might have once been a kind of question, a seeking of permission, but was now just a matter of fact noise indicating need.

Tobirama held out a soft, fluffy towel as he said in the same annoying voice he'd always used. "Oh wait, you never said that in the first place. Don't like my jokes? Well, eh, you never did. Nice to see some things never change."

Madara's flesh was burnt, raw and irritated from the time spent exposed to the sun. The tattered strips of old uniform cloth weren't enough to completely cover his body, and the places where skin peeled away looked over-sensitive and pink underneath the fluorescent lighting. It was strange, seeing an Uchiha look less than perfect, but Tobirama wisely said nothing as he observed the ragged man.

There was a taught pull in each of his limbs that showed he was prepared for any sort of action, and expecting the worst. But despite all the signs of weariness and terrible strain Madara did his best to stand tall, to look alert, and above all, betray nothing of how he was feeling inside.

Nevertheless he didn't know what the next steps were. All the Uchiha knew was that he was here, he made it and all he wanted to do was sleep. He couldn't sleep out there. Sleep meant death. Sleep meant someone could kill him. He had closed his eyes, only for moments, before moving to a new location each time. But, he could sleep here. They couldn't find him here.

"Yeah sure." Tobirama said, keeping his eyes on Madara. As he held out Madara's bag he motioned toward the rifle that Madara still held against his chest. "That one comes with me." the Senju said proffering the pistol. "Let's trade. Then I can get you set up in the Med Building and you can get some sleep before you gun all of us down."

"Sleep. Bed." Madara agreed, voice a little louder, hoping his attempt at regular speech would get Tobirama to shut up and show him where to go. He was an annoying Senju, always had been, but Madara was willing to do as he said, he was an ally, and that was something to be grateful for.

"Yep I hear you Porcupine." Tobirama replied, opening the door.

"Lean your head on his shoulder and rub your scent all over him why don't you." Madara said with a roll of his eyes as he and Tobirama _finally_ stepped outside, and he saw a red-haired woman whose arms were wrapped tightly around the waist of a tall, brown-haired man.

Bristling at his comment the woman asked in a sharp voice. "Where are you taking him?"

"None of your fucking business bitch." Madara shot back.

A few soldiers stepped forward, placing themselves between Madara and the now glaring woman. Instinctively he tightened the grip on his gun, wishing he hadn't let Tobirama take the rifle. He couldn't understand why people kept getting in his way. All he wanted to do was sleep… When the fuck had that become a crime in his own country?

"Med Building." Tobirama said in a placating tone, as if he was talking to a bunch of rowdy children.

"What?" the woman asked, still hanging all over the brown-haired guy. "He shot at our troops. We need to detain him. Why the fuck is he still armed Tobirama? He's dangerous. What the fuck-"

"Uzumaki-san we recommend you re-evaluate the sanity in this situation." "And," one of the soldiers added, voice shaking with nerves, "please regard all forms of questioning to be a hostile act against the… guest."

"Me hostile?" She asked, "Am I walking around stealing food and flailing my gun around?" She shook her head at the dumbstruck, and admittedly, slightly horrified looks from the group of soldiers who'd come to assist. "Don't think so."

The brunette reached up a hand, giving Toto a pleading look, "It's fine. Ma—" he took a deep breath and Tobirama glared at the gawking Privates, "My otouto will watch him. The man needs rest. He's obviously been through a lot." After another moment of that snarling and possessive feral dog position the woman calmed down, to Tobirama's obvious relief. We'll go notify the Kages and the other higher ups."

"Sure, sounds good." Tobirama agreed shoving Madara forward. "let's get moving Uchiha." And before Madara could fire that gun, whip his head around and yell, or even burst into tears, he hadn't quite decided what to do yet, Tobirama pressed the rifle against his back. "If you lose it now I'll lock you up." He hissed. "I don't care what those assholes did to you, and how long it's been since you got to walk outside. If you fuck this up you're done. Got me?"

Madara stared at Tobirama, surprised by the mans daringness to put the tip of the gun to his back. He was at once protecting the others while also showing his trust and respect. It was strange to be on the same side as a Senju, even now, but Madara decided he might as well go along with it. And as that other male voice interrupted the cow's yells he felt a warm thread of calm work its way through his chest. A peace fell on him, enough of a respite for his frayed nerves, to let Madara turn on the safety for his gun.

Upon seeing the Med Bay without a word he grabbed one of the containers of morphine and a nearby needle, getting it ready, before injecting it into himself. His eyes drooped in relief. The poor doctors looked slightly put off by the silent, almost mute man. But none of them said anything as he walked toward the cot he and Hashirama would fight over, to nap on, before…

Resisting the urge to collapse onto the bed Madara stole back the rifle Tobirama had taken from him with a silent glare of reproach as the staff gasped.  
"You little shit." Tobirama said as the BANG of the rifle showed that all there was left in the gun were blanks. "You, of course you kept the live ammunition in the "less threatening" weapon. Fucking ass." He muttered thoroughly duped.  
"Hn." Madara said throwing off pieces of clothing and allowing Tobirama to reclaim both guns with a smirk putting them on his desk. Madara stripped to his boxers, once more disarming himself of all the blades he had tied to him. Including three he had hidden in his long black hair, all were covered in blood. The largest knife had a foreign insignia and was crusted over with soot, and bits of hair, the hair of the enemy, still clung to it.

Then the medics waited, almost every one of them young and untrained. Obediently, but not so helpfully, they stood, waiting for orders. They all stared, open-mouthed, at Tobirama. The albino man was said to have brought soldiers back from the dead on the battlefield. And Madara must look pretty damn dead to them. But without giving them a chance to even make a call Madara spoke his voice tired. "Only the idiot…" he demanded.

Still not entirely sure how he felt about this new arrangement between himself and the Senju Madara settled back on the cot, letting his eyes close as Tobirama extracted the first bit of metal.

"Otouto?" asked that same soft voice, the brunette from the showers. "What did you give him?"

"Nothing." Tobirama said. "He came in, dosed up on some morphine, and plopped down on the bed." It seemed like Tobirama was trying to hide a snicker as the nervous mutterings of the other medical staff grew. "Said I was the only one who could help him."

"You" the man whispered his sun-tanned arms folded in his lap. "Why?" he asked passing Tobirama another swab of disinfectant.

"Hmm" Tobirama mumbled, using a pair of tweezers on a… a bit of metal stuck inside Madara's arm, "Because he admires my skills."

Madara heard the faint mumblings about him, and the familiar voice finally became clear. His breath hitched. Part of him thought Hashirama must have been dead. Otherwise… why had he been left to fend for himself? They may have only been lovers for a few months… but they'd been friends for far longer; Hashirama wouldn't have left him to die. He wouldn't. Hashi wouldn't do that to him.

But had Madara hidden himself that well? He did everything he could to leave markers of himself in every location he went.

Hashirama wouldn't forget him, wouldn't have willingly damned him to Hell… They were too close for that. Then again… feelings didn't last forever, and Madara didn't even know how long he'd been missing. They might have misidentified his comrades' remains, Hashirama could have been searching this whole time, but then again… No. Madara shoved all the unnecessary doubt away. Those types of emotions, those types of worries, were unimportant now, they would not help him survive.

"Fuck off Senju." Madara finally got out, maybe a few seconds after Tobirama spoke, "You are the only idiot in this tent full of dumbasses." His words flowed easier as the morphine kicked in, the sentences slurring as Madara continued, "You just have a slightly higher rank in this place of stupidity." He turned his back from the two Senju, not wanting to meet their eyes, and burrowed deeper into the pillow beneath his head. "No real skill."

His growing comfort might mean that he pushed shrapnel further into his skin, the bits of metal everywhere on his body, but Madara didn't care. He wouldn't care about anything as long as he got to lay in this bed and not think. "You're still an asshole and a loser."

"Drugged enough for sarcasm. I'll have to re-order that strand of morphine." Tobirama replied, stitching up the small wound on Madara's forearm. "I'm glad you're comfy on the bed Uchiha, but eventually we are going to have to take care of that fishing line or whatever the fuck you patched yourself up with."

Hashirama sounded like he was choking as he stared down at Madara, "That, oh damn I see it now."

"Yep." As Tobirama pressed skin and removed scraps of metal and wood splinters he was creating a nice, sizable pile of debris for the evidence box sitting next to him. "I mean at least he didn't use already rusted line."

"Please stop." was all that Hashirama said.

"Nii-san" Tobirama said quietly, so the dumbasses as Madara correctly labeled them, couldn't hear, "You don't get to act like a wounded puppy with fragile feelings and shit." Another bit of shrapnel plinked into the pile as he talked, "Save your hurt and your angst for the assholes who did this to him all right?"

Madara listened to their comments without much interest except when Tobirama directly spoke to him. "It's barbed wire they used to tie my arms together so they would cut open my skin if I tried to disjoint my wrists…" It was funny, how with the introduction of a warm cot, a blanket, and some food, that the memory hurt less, that that pain felt smaller… Strange, Madara was sure it had hurt terribly… "I had to use a fishing hook to stitch it." Ah, there it was, the morphine was just making it hard to remember things now. The pain was all still there, carefully locked up, organized, like everything in Madara's life, but it would be there, those images, if he needed them.

He took a breath; in through his nose, and out slowly through his mouth, a centering kind of breath, an attempt to push back the fuzziness of the drugs. "Dying with my jugular cut open isn't how I wanted to die." he stated matter-of-factly , "If you plan on taking it out I expect two more injections before I let you near it" he snarled. He moved his arm over to show more metal embedded into his skin where they tied him. "Can one of the gossiping idiots who think their discrete get me another Kami damn burger and be useful if you insist on pulling out shit from my skin while I'm trying to fucking sleep?"

"You heard the man" Tobirama said, deadpan, to a hovering nurse. "Go get this starving patient a burger." She opened her mouth for a minute, as if wanting to say something, but decided, wisely, against it and ran out of the tent. "Now" he said, turning back to Madara's still snarling face, "to tell you the truth I'm kind of offended that I'm not your only idiot."

"You should be eating something less dense than a burger." Hashirama added softly. The free hand that wasn't propping up his head, ran over the stitching on his sleeve, over and over, desperate to stay grounded, "like broth."

"Oh stay still" Tobirama clicked his tongue as he began poking around at the line Madara had exposed on his wrists. "You're lucky this hasn't gotten you gangrene." As Tobirama inspected, Madara wolfed down his second burger, once the nurse had returned, eyes downcast. "I'm taking off… off the rest of your shirt. I need to look at those wounds you've got on your chest and back, not to mention everywhere else." Tobirama stated.

Madara didn't want to— No, he was terrified of admitting to himself that the man was not just an illusion from some sort of heat stroke. He wasn't ready to look Hashirama in the eyes and say all the things that had drifted through his mind over the time he was gone.

He let the nurse take off his ripped disgusting uniform. "If I took it off the hooks might have been in my skin near my veins." he said, still trying to be practical, like an Uchiha was supposed to be. He reached over, careful not to touch anyone as he chugged the glass of water. It was stupid, irrational of him, this wanting to make things clear that he had done everything right, everything correct, even when he was a prisoner of war. "If you keep pulling out shrapnel I'm never going to get to bed. Can't you just fix the important shit?"

"I am fixing the important shit" Tobirama replied, motioning for the nurse to bring over the IV drip so Madara could be constantly supplied with some pain killers. "You'd like to have continued use of your limbs right? No internal bleeding? No blood poisoning? No ugly amputations?"

Madara groaned, eyes fluttering at the new dose of medication. "Mother fucker." he mumbled, getting comfortable.

 **(Hashirama)**

"Okay Porcupine, I will no longer force my presence upon you." Tobirama said after about a half hour of mostly comfortable silence, the majority of the nursing staff having left for dinner. "Hopefully you fall asleep soon, and I'll check in on you throughout the night. Nobody will touch you." And with that Tobirama stood up, cracking his back and neck, pulling the latex gloves off and tossing them into a waste bin. "Do me a favor and don't go wandering off; pretty sure you want to be restrained as much as I do."

Then Hashirama stood, helping his otouto place the debris into the evidence box, along with the tools. Locking the container, Hashirama murmured "Go get something to eat." while placing the box on Tobirama's desk. "I'll watch him for now." Finally saying "Go on Toto; it'll be fine." before taking a seat at his own station, five or more feet away from the now, apparently sleeping, Uchiha, even though all Hashi wanted to do was wrap the injured man in his arms and cuddle him for a while.

"Yeah, sure." Tobirama agreed, touching his aniki's head, "I will come back to make sure you go to bed too hippy."

There were a few moments of silence wherein Hashirama stared at the morphine drip, watching the way the cord dangled from the pole, until it landed on the edge of the cot, before the needle lay in crooks of Madara's arm.. He thought about the buzz of that drug, the heady oblivion it gave you after hours, days, weeks… years of pain he knew at least for Madara, years of fishing line embedded in arms, constantly reopening all the times he must've tried to escape.

He wanted to ask how awful it had been, to find a way to comfort the man who'd been his entire world before disappearing and setting that world aflame. But Hashirama knew that wouldn't be fair, that it'd be putting himself too much into the situation, full of angst like Tobirama had warned him not to be.

For a moment, when Madara began to speak Hashirama wanted to smile, happy to know that Madara would talk, to him, not just to others when he, so happened, to be in the room. The smile didn't last though, not when Madara said, "I was surprised that you never found me… despite all the clues I left for you in the war zone…. did I truly make it that difficult…"

"Markers, you left markers, where?" he wanted to scream, "I looked, we all did." he wanted to say, defending the loyalty of their men, the men they'd both commanded in countless battles, who had sworn allegiance to their country. "I never stopped looking." he wanted to argue, but he couldn't. Hashirama couldn't justify all of Madara's time alone, all those perilous hours when he must have snuck away, fearing capture, to put down some sort of sign that he'd been there, alive, breathing, still fighting. Still fighting, Hashirama knew, far longer than the month the troops had been allowed to look for bodies and remains of their fallen comrades.

 _I left you._ he thought, remembering the stranger that had looked out of his lover's eyes, the hollowed out person who apparently, considered his fucking brother, his only friend.

 _I told your family that you were dead, that there was no chance you survived._ Tajima had been sitting across the table from him, hands in his lap, coffee untouched, despite the purple bags under his eyes indicating that he really needed the caffeine. Izuna had been in the couch nearby, eyes still bandaged, head tilted toward the sound of their voices as he listened to his father crumble, believing he'd led four of his sons to slaughter.

 _I ran into the arms of someone else because I couldn't handle being alone._ This part, the relationship he'd created with Mito's help, the love and support, the way she dealt with his nightmares and bad days, while all the time Madara had had no one, no one at all to hold him on all of his bad days threatened to suffocate Hashirama.

 _When Hashirama's squad made it back to camp three years ago there'd been chaos. Bombs were set off by the enemy in a number of locations, probably indicating that the other countries had formed some sort of an alliance, and the casualties just kept growing. The only thing he knew at first was that Tobirama was alive; he'd brought his injured to his brother's tent, staying with the mortally wounded, holding their hands while they struggled to breathe through the blood filling their lungs, or the wrenching phantom pains of limbs that were no longer there._

 _"You seen Madara or Izuna yet?" Hashirama asked, pressing against a soldier's torn abdomen, trying to slow the bleeding, "Have the Kages called off the advance?"_

 _His brother clicked his tongue, as he threaded stitching through the wound, deep in concentration, while the man beneath the two Senju cried at the pain. "God Damn it!" Tobirama finally yelled, "Someone get me some mother fucking anesthetic!"_

 _Through the tumultuous noise and groaning of injured men and women Tobirama's apprentice girl ran up, clutching a syringe. "Here Sensei. Got it." With a nod from Tobirama she released the plunger, helping the men stabilize the shuddering patient, only letting go after the medication had started kicking in._

 _"Nope." Hashirama's otouto said, placing a kind hand on the soldier's brow as he finished applying the sutures. "I've been too busy wondering if my own brother was alive to worry about them actually."_

 _There should have been earlier signs; Hashirama was sure, now, after years of retrospect that there had been, but he'd been too preoccupied to notice. So when he asked "You mean you weren't getting my transmissions?" he only felt the beginnings of dread, not the soul-crushing fear he should have._

 _"You didn't send any."_

 _"No" he muttered, helping lay another soldier down on the makeshift cot, her arm a tattered mess of flesh and splintered bone, "I did. I swear. Hoshigaki was relaying them to the checkpoints and border guard."_

 _"Well then" Tobirama said, allowing his brother to tie up the tourniquet, "Your Rookie is doing a shitty ass job." "Maybe" he continued with a huff as the woman thrashed beneath him while Hashirama worked, "You should demote him Mr. Chunin."_

 _"Fuck off Toto."_

 _"Kind of busy here."_

 _"Seriously" Hashirama asked after an indeterminate time filled with more damaged bodies and anguished eyes, never completely free of pain, due to the limited amount of morphine. "you didn't get any of our messages?"_

 _"No"_

 _Again, another sign clicked into place as they worked. Tobirama's normally flippant tone of voice, his aloof superiority was being replaced by an adamant, matter of factness that scared his older sibling. "Have any of your men heard from Madara's team then?"_

 _"Not since you arrived, and pretty sure there wasn't anything before that either."_

 _For months after that day Hashirama would ask himself, "If I just left then, could I have saved him? Could I have warned them in time? Could I, and the other men from the lookout posts have realized it was an ambush?"_

 _Probably not, he knew, but that never stopped him; despite his brother's, Mito's, his therapist's, and even Izuna's words of kindness and support. He always blamed himself. And, as his chest constricted further, that ashen burning taste filling his insides, Hashirama knew that Madara blamed him too._

 _"There appears to be a small, isolated, squadron of enemies half a mile northeast of my team's current position. We're sending scouts out now to investigate further; if it looks promising we will pursue."_

 _Those were the last words Hashirama had of Madara's, just a simple relay of troop movements, nothing more. There was no goodbye, no sound of regret, like he'd be missing something if he left._

 _It was practical, functionary, and the type of thing any exemplary commanding officer would say. It held no hint of the beautiful, kind young man Madara was, and Hashirama hated those words. But that never stopped him from listening to the audio recording he'd copied a few hours after he understood that his lover was among the KIA._

Senju Hashirama was a soldier, he was a man with scars. He'd been fired at by enemy troops for years now, he had lost friends that didn't miraculously come back to life, he was used to the horrors of war. But the casual way Madara asked why Hashirama hadn't found him, made all the past years of hard won control shatter.

The _pain_ he was feeling wasn't enough, the stinging in his eyes wasn't enough, the way his breaths came harder as he looked down at Madara wasn't enough. It was his fault, all the emptiness, all the suffering, all the lost time, it was his fault.

Hashirama might have choked back a sob, or made some sort of strangled sound, because the next words out of Madara's mouth, were as close to kind as the Uchiha was probably capable of. He said "... I've been waiting for that joint you promised me for quite a long while." and then, the tears Hashirama had been keeping back all day spilled out of his eyes, to the man's horror, so as Madara continued with "I smoked the half that was in my pocket the first week in if I'm being truthful…" Hashirama pressed his arm to his face, trying to hide the moisture.

"Shit" he finally said, pulling away his damp sleeve, "I…" he stopped, wondering what he wanted, what he was actually thinking as he let his gaze fall on Madara, not wanderingly, but obviously taking in all the damaged skin and ravaged muscle. "I shouldn't be crying. I'm sorry." "I'm sorry" he said again, feeling the tightness in his throat loosen as he spoke, "I'm so sorry I didn't find you. You, you, just…" He clenched his fists in his lap, opening up another wound in his cheek with his teeth, as he bit down, thinking, of how to phrase it. "You do not have to be kind to me. When you want to get angry, when you need to yell and scream and cry, I'll be there, if you want."

 **(Madara)**

Madara didn't want to— no— he refused to look Hashirama in the eyes for a few solid minutes. He knew he was being illogical and ridiculous. Looking at Hashirama wasn't going to kill him, or set him on fire like a human torch, but it Kami damn felt that way.

Yet, despite the unreasonable, graphic thoughts in his mind of how he might just explode, he did it. Uchiha Madara looked in Senju Hashirama's eyes and told him the one thought in his mind, "You are an idiot." He let the words hang in the air for a moment so Hashirama understood he meant it and then continued. "You are a stupid, fragile, hippie, dumbass who is a damn hypocrite. Why are you sorry for crying? Because I can't? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard." "Yes," he said, taking a breath, that did nothing to calm his racing heart, "I'm fucking angry. I'm angry that the military I served for my entire life didn't find me. I'm pissed that you think it's your fault because your damn tree-hugging mind thinks you can save the world."

"Thank you." Hashirama said tossing his used tissue into the trash.

Madara bolted upright as a nurse walked by the open doorway, a pile of fresh bandages under one arm. Her steps clanged inside his head and he gritted his teeth. "I am not going to cry, sob, or be an asshole to you for not finding me! There are plenty things you deserve to be insulted for but that's not one of them you thick headed idiot. I am a soldier, and you better remember that despite the draft, I chose to be here. Now I want to be even more.."

The side table, with the knives and gun had no chance, none, absolutely zero percent chance for its survival as Madara slammed his fist down. "I want to be here so I can take those men who killed my friends by the throats and skin them with a fucking cheese grater before I chop off their fucking limbs!" He practically roared.

His eyes were wild and staring directly at his friend, thinking all the while of killing those monsters, of getting revenge… But he didn't want pity, not that half-ass softness he could see forming in Hashirama's eyes. "After I give my report…" he said, rolling his shoulders, completely ignoring the splinters in his hand, "even your tree-hugging arse won't stop me from making sure they know what it feels like to have bits of them removed, just like my team, just like the men who died in the explosion, just like….your heart… ours…"

Hashirama sat there, in his chair, looking at the cot where Madara lay, that cot they'd squabbled over so many times before, and Hashirama sighed, raising a brow. "Am I allowed to stitch that up?" he asked, gesturing toward Madara's bloody hand. "Or do I have to get Toto?

Madara grumbled, like he used to, and moved to flop a thin, scarred arm over to Hashirama. "Fine." Drops of his blood fell onto Hashi's uniform, "Stitch it up…" he glared at the brunette shaking his head. He would not admit that he sounded crazy. He wasn't! Not that crazy at the very least! He did not deserve the whole, 'I'm not going to respond to that.' From Hashirama. He was far too proud to make him respond either.

"I am not crazy you fuck head." he couldn't help saying in the following silence. Kami, when had quiet unnerved him? "Nor am I a wimp… I don't need any of that stuff. I've handled myself for a very long time and I turned out just fine…." He spoke trying to justify his rant.

But then, the spiky-haired soldier blinked, bringing himself back to the present, shoving away any emotions his body was daring to show. Because, as much as he wanted to deny it, shove the thoughts away, or pretend otherwise, Madara was broken. It was that simple, there was something inside him that wasn't right, not anymore, and if he used emotions, real ones, instead of sarcasm, rage, and humor he'd lose it. To act numb to his pain was awful, and being bland about torture was hard but being truthful about it was far too much.

"Uh, I, what?" Hashirama finally said as he rummaged around for his stitching needle. "I didn't call you a wimp, and I don't think you're crazy." Then Madara just watched as his friend took his hand, slowly pulling out bits of broken wood, and wrapping up the gash in the white skin. "You're bleeding Madara, and yeah, obviously you've suffered worse things than a cut up hand, but I'm here, and I want to help fix it before you get more wounds that might get infected."

With the ease of long practice Hashirama pulled the thin thread through the uppermost layers of flesh and synched the wound closed, smiling at the familiar work, even if the circumstances were anything but routine. "I don't think I could use a cheese grater. But I want those men to hurt too." After another minute he tied off the thread and placed a bandage over the spot so that Madara wouldn't accidentally rip the stitches out in his sleep. "I don't want to fight with you." he added, softly, almost to himself, "If I say something that's wrong just tell me, and if you say something that's stupid, or drug-induced, or something else particularly Uchiha-like I'll tell you. Okay?"

 **(Hashirama)**

The need to cry was shrinking, Hashirama could feel it getting smaller when he was stitching Madara's hand, just getting to touch him again made him happy, if a bit fragile. So he tried to keep that in mind as he continued speaking, knowing that even if Madara didn't want the words, wasn't able to process them yet, they were still important to say. "I love you, and I want you to know that me being worried and sensitive might not just be for your benefit."

"My benefit?" Madara asked with a hard set to his jaw.

"Just… I love you, and you're not a wimp, or weak, or crazy." "But" Hashirama said, trying to look directly into Madara's face, "You are injured, and sick, and feverish, and totally not showing how physically and" he took a deep breath, "mentally hurt you are."

"I am not mentally hurt!" Madara growled pulling his hand away and tackling Hashirama to the floor. "I'm not the one seeing a shrink." He said pointing toward Hashirama's red folder on Tobirama's desk.

"There's nothing wrong with-" Hashirama started to say, but Madara cut him off with a scowl.

"There's nothing wrong with my brain, with my emotions, with me!" Then he was straddling the taller man, and even though Madara hit and punched, and wailed down on Hashirama's face and chest there was nothing strong about this moment. With every shove he showed his agony, and with every growl he let loose a sound of desperation.

"Of course there's not." Hashirama tried to say, but Madara didn't stop. Each press of Madara's fist against Hashirama's skin was just that, a press, or a shove, not a real punch. There wasn't enough substance to the muscles, not enough to make them effective anyway. _No wonder why he was carrying around so many weapons_ Hashirama thought, looking at his old lover's anguished expression, _better equipment probably saved his life more than once._

Madara screamed, claiming that he wasn't hurt, but by the mere fact of his words being said aloud, making it so he could be nothing but raw pain and uncertainty. Would a touching moment of whispered "I love you too." and some joint sobbing, have been better? Yes. But Hashirama would take this brittle, breaking man who was desperately trying to speak away the shakiness of his words, every time, if it meant that emotionless husk, functioning on three years of autopilot brought on by starvation and torture, wouldn't come back.

As Madara growled that he was "fine" Hashirama fought down the bitter laugh that bubbled up in his throat, remembering all the times his therapist had told him he was anything but. _It really is the worst word_ he mused, trying to keep himself completely complacent, body still tensed to help Madara if the stupid idiot ever realized he needed it, but mellow enough so he absorbed all the blows Madara rained down on him.

"And shit, I don't care how this makes you emotional!" Madara spat out, firmly putting Hashirama in the mindset of, hugs and tender words would have been way better, and a much more logical reaction to Hashirama's invitation of continued love and support, despite his own fears.

But, he knew, making sure his face betrayed nothing, Madara was definitely not capable of logical thought at the moment. And it really didn't matter if it was the trauma or the drugs talking, they were both perfectly able to fuck up any semblance of subtlety Madara could have had left.

Hashirama did try to say "I wasn't asking you to care; I was just stating a fact since I know you like having all the facts… at least you used to." But he was pretty sure that attempt at peacemaking got drowned out by Madara's next onslaught of words.

"I don't care! I don't give a single fucking shit! All the nasty things I could say! Do you want me to say them Hashirama!?"

There was a time when Madara would have called him Hashi, or Hippie, or something, not to lessen the sting of the comment, but just to make it clear that they'd be okay, eventually, after they got over whatever bullshit they were dealing with at the time. And although Hashirama did not really want to hear all the nasty things he was sure three years of torture could make an already angsty Uchiha think up, he would have said, "Sure", but Madara still wasn't listening.

Or, maybe, if Hashi was giving Madara some credit, temper tantrum aside, it's not like he was yelling back, trying to be heard. It was more like he was whispering, or talking to himself, so Madara couldn't be the only one at fault.

"If not then never say that crap again." came Madara's firm response to Hashirama's impassive expression. "They didn't take my mind!" he yelled and Hashirama's heart ached, "They didn't take my happiness!"

 _Oh Kami Love, how couldn't they? You weren't allowed to be anything else but vigilant and ruthless; if you'd been anything else you'd be dead, and this would be just another one of my nightmares._ Hashirama thought, still splayed out on the floor beneath the frantic man he loved.

"They didn't hurt me!" Madara went on, and all Hashirama could picture was the useless struggles of a drowning man, as he tried over and over to convince himself that he could swim, since if he said it enough times, it had to be true. Right?

 _Wrong_ Hashirama thought, listening to Madara's almost pleading voice, if one could ever call an Uchiha's tone, pleading.

"They couldn't break me! They lost!"

He wanted to reach up a hand and caress Madara's cheek, run a finger over his jaw, press his palm against the man's soft, or well, what used to be soft, hair, but Hashirama knew he couldn't do any of that. Best case scenario Madara would shove his hand away, denying the implied emotional support, and worst, would be his shrinking away, forcing Hashirama to wonder if it had only been physical and mental abuse that Madara had suffered.

Hashi settled on saying. "Yes, they lost, and you won. Because you're here, alive, and you're not dead somewhere on that fucking battlefield." He took a breath, letting his head fall back on the floor, arms splayed out to either side, completely defenseless. "You're beat up, and so many kinds of injured it's not even funny," "But like you said" he closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the sound of distant footsteps didn't get louder, didn't mean that someone was going to come in and mess up the situation even more. "They didn't take your mind." Hashirama let himself smile, knowing that the emotional talks, the real ones, where he did force Madara to face what those monsters did to him, would eventually come. But not now. "You are still Uchiha Madara, you are still here, and that's all that matters."

Somewhere inside his brain Hashirama knew being pinned to the ground by a deranged, very inebriated, former POW, wasn't the classiest of situations. He could see the eye rolling, "What the fuck? You wanted to get laid that badly?" look Tobirama would give him if he saw the two men then, but Hashirama decided there were more important things than manners and protocol. "You should go to sleep lov—" "You should go to sleep now" Hashirama said instead, not sure how endearments would go over in the Uchiha's head, considering Hashirama was betting that the man would pass out, finally, in the next twenty minutes. Nothing like a good emotional discussion to use up all that excess adrenaline.

"I won't leave" he added, beginning, ever so slowly to prop himself up on an elbow, making sure to keep Madara over him, in a position of control, such that it was. "I will be here, and I'm sure Tobirama will be back soon to cycle in more pain killers."

He was about to sit fully upright, still letting madara straddle his legs, keeping him stuck in symbolism, if not in terms of physical strength. And he was taking a page from Tobirama's book of sincere, and heartfelt sarcasm, instead of sappy declarations of love, since that seemed to be Madara's speed at the moment, when he was about to say "Get your ass in bed soldier." he even thought of sweetening the order with the promise of a joint, made from his private herb collection, but Hashirama didn't get the chance.

"I can't sleep… I can't… I'm still not safe here." Madara said with a frantic look around and a tightening of his legs around Hashirama's waist.

"Shh. You're alright. " Hashirama said as Madara began protesting, the panic seizing him. The energy he usually used to observe his surroundings, the things that kept Madara one step in front of the people who were constantly trying to kill him, didn't know where to go, and Hashirama saw the hectic need for preservation morphing into terror.

"You aren't either." Madara said as if he hadn't heard anything Hashirama said. Although Madara would never acknowledge it, Hashirama was sure, his voice cracked on the next words. "What if they come?" he asked as Hashirama inched his hand toward Madara's wanting the fragile man to see his movements, to understand there was no threat from him, at least, since he wasn't ready to believe there was no threat from anyone.

"Then I'll be here." Hashirama said with a soft smile.

"They took my guns! I shouldn't have let them take my gun. The pistol had ammo in it, the rifle did not. I need the pistol at least. Or my knives. Where did they put them?" Madara asked voice shaking.

"Sweetheart" he said slowly, annunciating each kind syllable, "Toto took your guns, he let you keep your bag." He tilted his chin toward the cot, the mess of covers and sheets hanging off the sides from Madara's in-prompt-to ejection. "You took a shower and then Tobirama, my brother, Tobirama brought you here after that shower, that nice warm shower you took in this safe place." He didn't raise his hand from that spot on the floor, centimeters away from Madara's own hand now, "You took that shower while I was outside. Then Toto, my otouto, Tobirama, brought you to the Med Tent, and you put your empty gun and bag on your bed."

"Shhh, Sweetheart" hashirama tried again, only showing calm on his face, letting his voice stay low and good. "Your knives were on the side table," he gestured toward the mass of splinters around the two men, "You broke it when we were talking, before. So your knives are here on the ground."

Madara tried to nod, responding to Hashirama's kind words, but the footsteps coming sent the synapses in the Uchihas brain into overdrive as his fists clenched hard on Hashirama's military uniform. His breathing grew more unsteady and his legs wrapped around Hashirama protectively.

Even though the opiates were causing the size of the man's pupils to fluctuate, Hashirama knew they were dilating, just as he could almost feel the race of Madara's heart, as he struggled for control. "You sure you didn't take a lick of the morphine too?" Madara asked, clenching his fists on Hashirama's shirt, his legs twisting around the other man's, desperate to hold on. "Why, why aren't you yelling back?"

"Because" Hashirama answered, leaning into Madara's touch, trying to let his old lover know that the contact was okay, that this was okay, that they would both be okay, "I'm not angry, and I'm not afraid." "We're with one another" he went on letting his forehead move that one, almost immeasurable inch closer, so that their brows were touching. "You are not alone, and neither am I."

"I, I," Madara said, wrenching a hand away to press it against his head, the other fist still knotted in Hashirama's uniform, "I."

"Shh, Sweetheart" Hashirama said again, still that same gentle tone, "You're a little upset, you're tired. It's okay. You still won." He really hoped the ways he was modulating his voice were helping, and not just making him sound like a dim-witted moron who couldn't get his sentences out.

 _Christ_ he thought, _Madara, my Madara, you will get through this. I will not leave you again._

But it seemed like a long battle to Hashirama, as he let one hand fall to his belt, reaching for his holster, "Here, you can hold my gun. The chamber's full." "Yes take it" he murmured, very slowly passing it into Madara's hand, "Let's keep the safety on, for now, but if I hear anything, I'll tell you to unlock it. Okay?" They sat there, hopelessly intertwined on the floor, as Hashirama wrapped Madara's fingers around the grip, only letting go after the other man's hand stopped shaking. "See, it's a good gun, you bought it fo—" The rest of Hashirama's words, his carefully thought out sentences, trying to lead Madara through the maelstrom of his mind, back into the present, were interrupted by a woman's startled shriek.

Mito stood there in the doorway, a dinner plate from the Caf balanced on her arm, with two mugs of coffee in her hands. And she started to say, with a smile, "Hashi I brought you…" but the sight of Madara still, technically on top of Hashirama, with a gun in hand, and what were the beginnings of a panic attack, or, what must've seemed to be a bloody rampage to Mito, flung all rational thoughts from her head. "You mother fucking little whore!" she screamed, the plate and mugs crashing to the floor, "Get off him!"

Hashirama didn't see what Madara did, but the Senju did feel his lover, yes his lover no matter the amount of time that had gone by, tense and fold in on himself. But it wasn't the kind of folding inward that meant someone wanted to hide, to shrink away, no, it was the inward motion of someone coiling their entire body, malnourished and starving notwithstanding, and preparing to leap.

"No Mito!" Hashirama yelled, forgetting to keep his voice quiet as he saw Mito lunge for one of Madara's fallen, bloody knives, the one that had some victims hair melted into the blade. "Mito, stop! You, you, leave!"

Then, before Hashirama could really process the black blur of motion, Mito had smashed into Tobirama's desk, wood cracking beneath her, the sound of her cry distorted from the slue of curses and profanities she was hurling at Madara. Calling him a monster, a traitor, a whore, a disgusting wretch, a whore, and telling him never to touch Hashirama again that Mito would rip him limb from limb if he did. "He's mine. You left him, you destroyed him, you ungrateful piece of shit. You fucking ruined his life! You don't get to come back, come back from the fucking dead, and fuck everything up!"

Madara stood with the gun pointed. His stance was perfect, that of a well bred survivalist. "Yours? Yours slut… well I guess the trauma of me leaving nearly made him think he liked pussy. If I had known he suffered enough trauma to lead him to that, I would have been far more understanding."

"Shit, people don't actually like this kind of stuff do they?" Hashirama asked himself, as Madara stood over Mito, unwavering and in control, well… as in control as a morphine-filled Uchiha, POW could be. Hashirama thought about waving his arms, scoffing loudly, or trying to butt in, explaining that he'd liked… he liked pussy before, during, and after he'd dated Madara, spending the majority of their time together wanting to fuck Madara senseless. But somehow, he reasoned, that Jōnin quality brain of his doing most of the heavy lifting, that trying to jokingly reason with the two fuming individuals above him was a terrible idea.

Then Madara flicked his tongue across his bared teeth with a hiss. "If you truly want him, have him." Before Hashirama's heart could decide whether to soar or fall from that comment Madara went on. "But he is not ever really going to be yours. Nor mine even. So I dare you to move from that spot and I'll splatter your brains out with the pistol I bought him."

Some people may have felt guilty for giving the lunatic their gun, but Hashirama didn't. Madara's words were a strange thing to make someone go shaking at the knees, or butterflies in the stomach, but Hashirama felt the nervousness, the innocent kind, grow as he sat fully upright, trying to signal Mito with his eyes, telling her that everything was fine despite _her_ fucking up of the situation. Madara wanted to claim him, to plant himself so firmly in this moment that it was rude and assuming, and it was all Hashirama could do, not to let an idiotic smile come across his face.

However, while Hashirama was feeling happy and proud, Madara was busy not caring what this woman's reasons were, he could be just as cruel and nasty. If not more, the morphine was the only thing that stopped him from unleashing the true Uchiha power of mental manipulation. He was a behavior analyst as his specialty after all. He had a way of making people see their worst nightmares.

Madara was not quite sneering, glaring, or grinning; It was impossible to tell more than that the man was serious and meant what he said. Regardless, Hashirama knew he'd forgive the man anything to continue hearing that brazen, fucking self-righteous voice explaining just how the world was going to work to his design.

 **(Tobirama)**

Tobirama entered the room then, the sound of his footsteps causing Madara to scoop up the knife lying next to Mito, since he obviously needed two weapons now, one for the red-headed bitch at his feet, and the other for the new adversary at the entrance. But a recognition dawned in those obsidian eyes and he let the knife fall back onto the floor, out of Mito's reach. Munching on his own dinner, careful to avoid the broken glass and, probably still scalding coffee, trickling across the floor. Tobirama mumbled "Huh" between mouthfuls, "You're a fucking moron" he said, acknowledging the way Madara chucked the knife he'd been holding, as he advanced on… on Mito. "I told you to leave them alone" he went on, the grumble apparent in the way he chewed his food, not even bothering to make eye contact with the bedraggled woman, "You just royally fucked this up, and i thought you were some kind of political analyst or something. Jesus, no wonder why the war's gone on so long.

"Does this whore belong to your harem Tobirama" Madara cut in, unclear of how much he'd understood the conversation so far, "if not I'm about to shoot her."

Before Toto could reply Hashirama stood, keeping himself always in Madara's sights and said. "Sweetheart, keep the safety on. She's not worth your time." Then Tobirama's aniki did something stupid, even Hashirama had to know that. He walked forward another step, arms limp at his sides, and pressed his body against Madara's, forcing the man to back up a step, to hopefully, acknowledge that he had no muscle, no body weight, to stand his ground. "We are fine. Mito's just being an asshole. I have you, you are protecting me, both of us,"

Meanwhile Tobirama planted a foot on Mito's chest, keeping the slowly thrashing woman still as he muttered in her general direction.

"Please, sit on the bed with me? Let's go to bed, Mada, please." Hashirama asked with a grateful nod toward Tobirama.

Madara stepped back as if to not allow their bodies to be comparable. He even pressed a hand against Hashi's chest to force him to keep his distance. Huffing, Madara stepped toward the bed, seeming uncomfortable when he saw the way he'd lost control. Since, the tangled sheets and remnants of that side table meant he had nothing, nothing resembling control left. "Make her leave."

As Tobirama dug his boot heel further into Mito's chest he was reasonably sure that the Uchiha had meant "Make it leave." Which, if the Medical Core's Chunin was being completely honest, he whole-heartedly agreed with.

Madara was mumbling about Hashirama's word choices, something along the lines of, stop making it seem like we're going to have sex, and the younger Senju had to fight the urge to burst out laughing, remembering to spit some of his food down onto Mito's furious little face, of course. "My bed is a mess now" Madara observed, while Tobirama watched his brother, who'd been over the moon for this Uchiha, had obviously never forgotten him despite all the times he'd argued that Mito was all that mattered now, look positively horrified at the idea that one, Madara thought he was trying to make a move, and two, at the idea of having his way with such a vulnerable, unstable, and injured human being.

The silence was filled with Tobirama's whispered "I'm going to stop crushing your ribs" While glaring down at Mito, with her messy hair and split lip, "then you're going to stand up, not looking at either of them." He waited for the woman's reluctant nod, jabbing his foot in a bit more when she tried sending a last dirty look toward Madara, "No, no, none of that Babe." Jeez, he should have tried being a prick to her sooner Tobirama realized, snickering at the wimpy excuse for a death glare she was trying to give him. "Then you're going to walk out of here, in front of me, eyes locked on the horizon, and we'll go have a chat."

As Mito stood, for once, following orders like she was fucking supposed to, Madara muttered "We can't just go to bed" before crumpling on the ground, maybe in regret for throwing some kind of temper tantrum Tobirama was sure, before saying, in a softer voice, that even made the Senju feel bad, "I don't want to be here."

The gun lay cradled in Madara's hands, while he bit his lip, obviously trying to keep everything inside him together. But the pulling of stitches, the bruised muscles and bones. His stomach upset with movement after two burgers must have hurt.

Tobirama took another bite of his food, placing his empty plate on his brother's desk, since a certain brother's, probably would be lover again, must have chucked Mito into his. "Let's go now Babe" he said, giving Mito a shove in the back, nodding toward his brother and Madara. "This one's going to talk with me. Call me if you need anything." "And" he added as he stepped outside, "Madara don't cry, Jesus, I thought you were tough. Just go sleep in Hashi's room. I'll stop by in the morning so we can do more tests without all" he gave Mito another push "the stupider idiots fucking everything up."

"Firing range; move it." he muttered, still keeping the redhead in front of him, despite her attempt to walk on his level, at his side, like a respected soldier would have been permitted. "Not forty minutes ago, I told you, ordered you, to stay away from Hashirama. I informed you that he had everything under control and that it appeared Madara felt comfortable with me and my brother. That no one else should go interrupting since it could set Madara off. You know, the man who's spent three years living every soldier's worst nightmare?"

"I was just going to give Hashi dinner; it's late." was Mito's sorry ass excuse. "I didn't expect Madara to be on top of him, waving a gun around!"

"Uh huh" Tobirama said, making sure the range was empty as he pointed to a bench, "I, like a real soldier, who's seen combat" he loved the way Mito's skin crawled at that comment, "took the minute to look through the gap in the door, and all I saw was Madara kneeling in Hashirama's lap, the gun was in his hand, perfectly still. They were just talking till you ran in there like a fucking moron."

He dragged Mito down next to him on the bench's open seat, hoping she got splinters up her prissy little ass. "So what?" she retorted, "It's okay for mentally ill people to hold guns now?"

"Did Hashirama look worried? No. He probably gave him the gun Mito. Jesus, the safety was on." Tobirama kind of wanted to take his gun out, and very slowly explain what a safety was, what it meant when the trigger wouldn't be able to fire, unless Madara unlocked the switch, but he figured that might get him slapped, and he knew how hard Mito could punch. "Even if things had been more out of hand, and you'd walked in, offering Hashi food, did you really think calling Madara a whore was the proper thing to do?"

That brought Mito up short, and Tobirama had fun looking at her face, screwed up in acknowledgement that she made a mistake. "He was trying—"

"What? To rape my brother?"

"He was all over him, and with the drugs, they could have—"

"Morphine doesn't increase sexual desire Mito." He stretched out his legs, idly moving his feet back and forth, wishing there was a pebble to kick or something. "Sides even if they'd been about to do it on the floor, Madara's too weak to do any real damage." Then Tobirama grinned, letting his head fall back as he looked at the sky, "Not to mention all that stuff you're supposing only works if Madara's a top, and he isn't."

She spluttered, hands clenching and unclenching on her knees, "You. He? What?"

Tobirama chuckled running a hand through his hair, "Little known fact Babe, all Uchihas are bottoms if they fuck men." He outright laughed at the expression coming across Mito's face, the way her lip quivered, trying to work everything out. "They're the needy, moaning, do it as hard as you possibly can kind of bottoms, trust me."

"So" he went on remembering one of his first conversations with Izuna, when he'd asked if Madara would ever hurt Hashi. Izuna's face had lit up, eyes bright, smile soft and amused, as he promised that Tobirama wouldn't have to worry, that Madara would take whatever Hashirama gave him, and do whatever possible to make sure he earned the love. " _My_ brother, would have been fine. Unless you think Hashi's the kind of man who'd fuck a vulnerable person?" Tobirama asked, glaring down at the red head.

"I didn't mean that. Of course Hashi wouldn't do something like that!" Mito said, face flushed, almost as red as her hair, as she tried to swallow the images Tobirama had probably put in her head. "Dynamics aside Tobirama, which seriously isn't the point, Madara was on top of him, not in bed, not resting, and he had a gun. I'm sorry I freaked out."

"You suck at apologies" Tobirama observed, rolling his shoulders, "You're still wrong, and you still fucked up. You shouldn't have started having a pissing contest about who my brother belonged to." "I mean" he added, glaring at her, "Even the drugged guy knows that Hashi doesn't belong to anyone really, not unless he gives them permission."

He held up a hand as she tried a comeback, explaining how she'd helped Hashirama out of the worst grief in his life. "When you help someone get over tragedy, trauma, or whatever it is. You never do it by begging them to fuck you, and hold you, and saying how much you need them." He let out a breath, thinking of all the hours he'd spent sitting by Izuna's bed, long after the beautiful man had closed his ruined eyes, falling into the darkness of sleep, since the world's nothingness was too much to handle. He could see the rise and fall of the Uchiha's, not his Uchiha's chest, the way his spiky hair lay on the pillow, and he only very carefully brushed away the tears on those porcelain cheeks as Izuna cried out for Madara. "You talk to them, you listen, and you offer your help." Tobirama felt the dinner he'd eaten roiling around inside his stomach, vaguely surprised at how angry he was, even at Mito, since he knew it wasn't just because of how she'd upset Madara. "You don't promise everything will be okay. You don't promise to never leave them, that you love them the most in the world. You say "I love you" and you hope that means something to them. You tell them about the world ahead of them, how it's still worth something even if their past is a shit show." "And then" he finished, feeling the ache in his heart, as he remembered the way Izuna had finally kissed his cheek goodbye before his last ambassador's trip, "you hope eventually, without forcing them into it with guilt and loneliness, that they'll love you back."

As Tobirama bit his tongue at the end of his sentence a young rookie from the medical unit approached and bowed to his superior. "Senju-san? Um, I thought I'd let you know something I overheard." Hiruzen looked terrified but Tobirama was his team leader. He reported everything to him. "Uchiha-chan is coming… and the father… someone snitched. They are on a plane coming to see Uchiha Madara-sama. Uchiha-Chan also said he is going to murder you. His words not mine, sir! He is under the belief you may have kept his brothers survival from him. I don't think they know he has only been here for a few hours." He passed Tobirama a phone. "Here. Thought you might need this sir." He bowed once more.

The young man quickly held his tongue after and looked to Mito with obvious distaste. "I looked after your brother and Uchiha-sama in secret as you wished, and I also wanted to confirm that Madara-sama is no threat. He is scared. That is all I observed sir. He shows critical mental trauma and lack of ability to recognize pain or consequence. As well as forms of extreme paranoia. Should I prepare a list of medication suggestions before the family arrives?"

"Yes, but nothing too extreme, we can't be sure how his body will metabolize all the new drugs. And" he added, taking the phone from Hiruzen, "Thank you for giving me a heads up. Please, if you find out who snitched, bring them to my office as soon as possible."

The young man nodded, not even blinking an eye when he heard Tobirama say "office' which he, not Mito, knew meant some long personal time with a man who liked conducting experiments on disobedient soldiers. With the government's permission of course, since they enjoyed having a miracle worker in their medical division. "Yes sir." He looked toward Mito, who thankfully had stayed quiet during this whole conversation, giving her a less than friendly look which Tobirama was making a pleased note of. "Shall I escort her to her quarters sir?"

Tobirama nodded, not bothering to properly dismiss the woman. Deciding it was a much better idea to begin walking back to his own room so he could have, what was likely to be, the worst phone call ever.

 _Damn it_ he thought as he texted Hashirama, explaining the situation, and ordering him to roll Madara a fucking huge one before telling him. Tobirama ignored the passing greetings of soldiers as he finally got to the Med Core's barracks, shutting the door of his, extremely small, but still private room, allowed to those of Chunin rank or higher. "Please don't curse at me." he thought, dialing Izuna's number, the picture he'd taken of the man on their first sort of date, not enough to make him smile. "If he's angry enough to use profanities in front of his dad I'm dead."

"Hn." Izuna said a second later, the faint sounds of static in the background, "About time you called."

Tobirama let out the first of what was probably going to be a huge line of deep breaths. "Hello Izu-cha… Hello Izuna." Jesus this was harder than he thought it would be. "I apologize for not informing you immediately about your brother's return."

"I" Izuna said, voice calm, but in that horrifying way Uchihas had of making it sound lethal and scary as all hell. "should have been there when he came home."

"We didn't realize he was coming home." Tobirama kicked off his shoes, and laid his gun on its hook, "There was no intel, no rescue mission. He just walked into camp this afternoon, and I made sure the guards didn't gun him down."

"Why would they do that?" Izuna asked, voice cracking slightly, "He's not, he didn't…"

"He escaped from enemy capture. We don't know how." Tobirama replied, wanting to make it perfectly clear that Madara's honor, his goddamn Uchiha honor was still intact, if not more than intact, because of surviving like he did. "He doesn't look good Izuna. He's starved, covered in badly healed, or infected scars, and he just looks like a man who miraculously walked off a battlefield, alive, when everyone thought he was dead."

"No ransom order? No plea deal for the hostage takers?"

"No" he fought the urge to call Izuna a pet name, knowing the Uchiha wouldn't take kindly to pity, or something that he might feel was pity, at the moment. "He escaped, and from what he said, it was more than once. Sounds like, from what little he talked about it, that he spent time experiencing the hospitality of a few mens' hell holes."

"Cut the— Cut it out." Izuna said, pausing to relay what Tobirama had said to his father. "What kind of injuries?"

"Bits of embedded shrapnel all over, some wounds that were stitched with…" Tobirama took a moment, wondering if Izuna would handle the details well, then deciding that he'd probably murder Tobirama more if he came and found that he'd been getting the censored version. "He stitched them with the fishing line they used to tie up his wrists. He said they used it to cut his skin, whenever he'd try and dislocate his bones, you know, to slip through the bonds."

"Okay" Izuna said, voice thready, but not shaking, just a little strained, "What else?"

"Well, it's not like they cut the line for him and gave it to him for sutures. He must've pulled it out himself and then used it to close the worse stuff." Tobirama knew Izuna wasn't a squeamish man; he was just as good of a fighter as his brother, and he'd earned Tobirama's respect long before struggling to interact with a world he could no longer see, a world that had, at least for a while, been without Madara. "Can I tell you more?" he asked anyway, trying to phrase it impassively. "Most of the other stuff is related to his malnourishment, and internal damage."

"Yeah Toto, I can fucking handle it." Izuna hissed, "He's a soldier, they get injured, I know that. It's not like it was some accident, or due to gun fire. He was fucking tortured, for years, alone. I get it; he won't be pretty and I'll probably want to go murdering the fucking bastards who did it, just as much as Madara does."

 _Well,_ Tobirama figured, _three F words, yeah, I ain't ever getting another kiss from this guy._ "All right" he finally said, allowing Izuna a moment to get his nerves under control, while explaining everything to Tajima. "There's a nasty scar around his jugular. A few of the others might heal, or become less noticeable with time, but that one's never going away, and it'll get worse when I remove the wire from it tomorrow, and properly stitch it up."

"Why is there still fishing line in my brother?" Izuna asked, voice more level.

"Because I took out as much as he seemed willing to handle. And considering how emotionally fucked up he is right now, I knew he wouldn't permit me to knock him out. And I didn't want to destroy the tiny ass bit of trust we have at the moment okay?"

Tobirama knew it wasn't fair to snap at Izuna, but he was damned if he'd be treated like the bad guy, especially considering Madara seemed to like him just fine, and he spent the last hour dealing with fucking Mito. "Sorry" he said though, letting out another one of those deep breaths, he'd lost count of how many that was then. "Point is, he's more emotionally fragile than physically. If he had wounds that would kill him, they'd have done it already."

"Fair enough. I'm sorry too."

Tobirama laughed, not a snicker, or a chuckle, but a soft laugh that always ended in him looking away from whoever he was speaking with, or in this case, since they were on the phone, looking down at his lap, wishing he could tell Izuna everything on his mind. "It is not a problem. But something that is an issue, is Mito. She's been very rude and idiotic toward your brother. I'll be having her detained while you're here, so she doesn't try to act wounded and upset, while fucking everything up."

"What did she do?" Izuna asked, not surprised in the slightest, "She go ape shit on Madara?"

"Pretty much. I hauled her out of the Med Tent and left Madara with Hashi. She got thoroughly scolded, and I am now aware of how much I detest her existence."

"Took you long enough."

"What time will you and your father be here?" Tobirama asked, wondering how it was that Izuna seemed to know everything, "Where will the two of you stay?"

"In about two hours, and I already spoke with the Ambassador Kage, we've got a room set up, out of the way."

"That's good" Tobirama replied, kind of wishing Tajima wasn't tagging along, since then it could've been totally reasonable for him to offer Izuna his bed.. while he _slept_ on the floor. Since really, Izuna knew where his room was, knew the layout of the barracks. It'd be easier for the blind man to get around if he was in a familiar place. That's all… obviously.

"Hey Toto, can you hear me?" Izuna asked, maybe not for the first time, thoroughly yanking Tobirama from his daydream, "I wanted to know if we should just see him in the morning?"

"Uh, yes." Tobirama made himself lie back on his bunk, eyes wandering over the photos tacked to his wall, the miscellaneous doctor's equipment on his nightstand. "We need to give him some medicine. He's been doing fine on the morphine I gave him, and Hashirama's going to cycle it through the IV during the night. But Hiruzen-chan will be providing Madara with a few additions."

"What for?"

"A simple mood stabilizer and an anti-anxiety. Minipress for nightmares and trauma related visuals. He's so paranoid it's vaguely disturbing. He is still operating on 'Everyone wants to kill me', and 'No one loves me, and I'm alone.'" "So" he added while Izuna discussed waiting till the next morning to visit Madara with his dad. "Really pretty average level of angst for an Uchiha."

"You're really lucky I love you."

Oh shit, well damn, that through the war-toughened man for a loop. What kind of love did Izuna mean exactly? Like was it the, you're my friend but you're being an asshole kind? Or was it the, I'm beginning to reciprocate those romantic feelings you've had for the last three years, kind of love? Fuck, Tobirama really wanted to know. He settled on "Thanks, I love you too." in the most relaxed, nonchalant, deadpan tone of voice he could manage. It was that one that made all the other people in his life think he couldn't give a rat's ass about their feelings and their hopes and dreams. He wasn't sure how well it worked on Izuna though. It wasn't just the blind guy develops and improves his sense of hearing kind of perception that Izuna was good at. He had the intuition of a great politician, and although Tobirama knew it wasn't the life he'd have chosen, he knew Izuna was going to make a great Kage for the Ambassadorial Division someday. "Seriously" he managed after a few minutes of reasonably comfortable silence, "he's hurting, and will take as much time as we can give him/what he will stomach to get better. But I think if we take things slowly it'll be alright."

"Well, I'm glad the Med Core's up and coming Senju Tobirama is there to help then." Izuna replied, that smile in his voice, "Thank you. And please don't tell him I'm blind until after your guy gives him those drugs, maybe even two doses of those drugs."

"Ha, sure Izu-chan. I'll be leaving that one to Hashirama though. I ain't dealing with that shit storm."

"Fine. I'll see you in the morning?"

Before Tobirama could stop himself he asked, "You want me to come over and talk later?" And now Tobirama was fighting the urge to punch a hole through the wall, ah, why did he always ask the most idiotic questions when Izuna made him happy? Like Jesus Fucking Christ, wasn't he supposed to be a genius? "It's just, uh, if you had anything else you or Tajima-sama wanted to know. That's all."

"No Toto," Izuna replied, not unkindly, "You get some sleep, I know you've been up all night. I'll see you, see you, tomorrow so you can walk me inside."


	3. Update Note

Sorry everyone. Uchiha no Borei and all of its amazingness had disappeared for a year. But with tons of new chapters already written and just in the process of INTENSE editing we are pleased to say that it has been re-written and more chapters will be coming. Some chapters are like 30 pages long so understand it can take a while to write and edit but this time we are hoping we don't vanish again anytime soon. To the followers who are still there we urge you to reread and be a bit more impressed this time! We will edit the third chapter soon. And hopefully you all will be pleased.

Thanks.  
MadaSasu (Warren the sighted one, not the smart one who is currently listening to the edits and eventually this terrible update)


	4. Kowareta

DISCLAIMER:

Injuries that require description of gore. (NAME) is change of perspective. ALSO REALLY FREAKIN' LONG CHAPTERS.

 **(Madara)**  
It was a long night, a terrible, frightening, yet comforting night. They offered him a sedative, but Madara declined, so he slept in five or ten minute snatches. He had to be prepared. He couldn't relax. Did he even remember how?

The rumbles of the heating pipes, or the soft whistle of Hashirama's breaths should be soothing, normal, familiar, but all he thought about was who might be breaking down the door, or who could crawl in through the window and take this, supposed to be peaceful, moment away, forever.

Placing a bruised pale hand against Hashi's ribs, Madara felt lungs working, and a, never forgotten, heart beating. He had agreed to sleep in Hashirama's room, only because it would be a place where people couldn't find him as easily. Except that, though he would never admit it out loud, he knew he cherished how comfortable he felt in these arms.

But such intimacy was something he couldn't afford to show to anyone, even the man next to him on the bed. And in a moment of basic, normal clarity, Madara realized Hashirama must have moved on. It'd been years, and the way that red-headed cunt had screamed at him couldn't mean anything else. Hashirama was fucking Mito, Madara was sure of it, and the thought of them together, of Hashirama's hands pressed against her face, tangling in her hair…

 _No, fuck this shit,_ Madara told himself, forcing the images in his head to break apart. _I survived war, torture, and I can deal with this crap._ He was an Uchiha, he was his pride and reputation, and if Senju Hashirama had become the kind of man who fucked whores Madara would acknowledge that and move the fuck on with his life.

Besides, in reality, Madara couldn't think of how long he'd been with Hashirama. They'd been friends since childhood, but their sex life had just started before he was taken. All those steamy nights wrapped up in one another, each stolen kiss, each frantically locked closet door, couldn't add up to more than thirty, forty, nights if he was being generous.

Still, the questions remained. Should he allow Hashirama the closeness he so obviously thought he was due? Was the whore actually important to him, or would it be alright for Madara to finish what he'd started in the Med Building?

Shaking his head, wanting to shove all the intrusive thoughts away, Madara escaped the Senju's grasp; standing up, he approached the closet where he removed a clean uniform to cover his torn body. It hung on him, showing his weight loss, and it made him angry. Before he could wear Hashirama's armor and nobody would bat an eye. It used to fit him perfectly. Now it hung on him like a poorly-fitted costume of a child trying to pretend they were a soldier.

He'd never been this insecure, never. When people looked to him it had been with confidence, fear, and respect, not pity and disdain. As he cinched the belt another hole tighter he could almost hear the voices of his first unit, the men and women arguing in hushed tones as their Jōnin Commander lay dead before them, some cocky terrorists having gotten off a lucky shot a few moments before the squad had reached cover.

 _"Well of course we have to go back." was some smart-mouthed Chūnin's solution to the problem of the dead man's guts leaking out into the desert. "Communications are down. We failed—"_

Damn, Madara realized, the fucking dip shit probably sucked Butsuma's dick enough to be a Jōnin by now. Kami, why couldn't he have ate bullets? Then again, Madara figured as he suppressed the urge to yank at the fabric of the uniform, trying to hide the harsh angles of his hips, he might be dead. Hope so. No way in hell I'm taking orders from that coward.

What had he said next? Quitters could go fuck themselves, or was it asking if the bitch needed to change his tampon—

 _No, no Madara could see the Chūnin's face now, feel the grime of sand glued to his body with sweat, hear the clash of distant tank fire coming from the inner valley. "We only fail if we leave, if we don't keep fighting." was Madara's response, while he knelt, folding the already stiffening arms of the corpse. "If those bastards are trigger happy enough to blow rounds on us that means they feel safe. that means they've got time to fuck around."_

 _"So what" Hyuga Rita said, her blueish-black hair coiled up under a sand-colored hood. "You want to go barge in there with my grenades?"_

 _"Hn." Madara smirked, brushing the dried blood onto his pants, "No, but I like your enthusiasm."_

 _"Our leader's been lost." The Chūnin tried to interject, his eyebrows scrunched up tight with irritation, and Madara knew, more than a healthy amount of fear._

 _"No shit, that's whose corpse I've been looting?" Madara asked with a scoff as he finished handing the last of the deadman's rifle mags out. "What do you want us to do then? Waste time digging him a grave? Endanger our own lives to lug his heavy ass body back to base? Have a sharing circle where we say how nice a guy he was?"_

 _"Course not I just—"_

 _"Are wasting our time."_

 _"Upon the death of a commander all survivors are to make their way back to base, or, if one is encountered earlier, report to the next available Jōnin Commander." the Chūnin said practically quoting the recruit manual's section on what to do when shit hits the fan. "If we turn and head due south we should be able to meet up with the Anbu and—"_

 _"Jeopardize the mission?" Madara asked in a scathing voice, "You want us to go run and hide with our tails between our legs because one of us died?" He gestured toward the east and the echoing gunfire, "If we don't blast every asinine fuck wad, and his mother, in there before 700 hours they'll move out and kill us."_

 _"Our orders—"_

 _"Were to liquidate this radio unit so they can't fucking spot our men coming in."_

 _"Our commander—"_

 _"Is worm food." Madara said through gritted teeth. "He's worse than useless." Madara kicked the corpse, each dull thud emphasizing his words. "He's deadweight, and if you don't wanna be then you'll shut the fuck up and listen. We're here, we're breathing and alive."_

 _"He'd want us to finish the job." Rita added as the others nodded agreement._

 _The Chūnin scoffed. "Uchiha just because your daddy's a big shot war hero doesn't mean you can throw your fucking weight around. Our officer is dead; we're next. Maybe, just maybe there's something to your, they feel too safe, idea, but that's it. I'm a Chūnin. I rank higher than you, and i say our new mission is to-"_

 _Rita scoffed, "And I'm about to be promoted to an Anbu Squad. Get over yourself. Listen to what he has to say, coward."_

 _With an almost lazy flick of the wrist Madara's pistol was in hand, the trigger cocked, "Maybe we can save the six of us with your run to the Anbu plan. But it would guarantee the deaths of hundreds of that same unit who are right now sneaking over the southern ridge, fucking shimmying down cliffs to get here undetected, so they can wreck the enemy besieging our supply lines." After the Chūnin looked ready to shit his pants Madara lowered the gun to his side and went on, "Eight hours, that's how long we have till they're in range of the watchtower. We need to go in there now. We need to kill everyone except two rookies so they'll keep relaying false tactical info."_

 _"We aren't qualified." the Chūnin said in a small voice. "We don't have the intel that."_

 _"You aren't. But we are." Madara said gesturing to the rest._

 _"He's right though." Rita said reluctantly "We never got the order of how to infiltrate the ground floor from the captain. I liked your little speech but how are we gonna tackle that? They've got fifty men in there at least."_

 _"Surveillance" Madara said, deadpan. "Which will be supplied by myself," he pointed to the Chūnin, "you, and two other volunteers. What we're doing is dangerous. It's a war."_

 _Scowling the man nodded his head. "So we all move out—"_

 _Madara rolled his eyes. "No. I go up, assess the situation, determine where you and the others would be best placed to grab intel. Then, we cycle through our positions, making sure each of us has a chance to scope out the perimeter. Finally after three hours we meet at the north checkpoint where Hyuga will be waiting for you to debrief her, before she blows up the side of the ridge. And after we see, at least, four enemy soldiers go out to verify the stability of their northern wall, then we go in, snipers ready to wreck that radio unit. The only way this group of bitches is getting a signal out is through climbing over a pile of our dead damn bodies."_

Back then he was a soldier. Gathering his title as one of the youngest Anbu in history with Rita… becoming his team captain until he outranked even her. He WAS a weapon, not some broken toy soldier.

But, black metal glinting in that damnable morning sunlight caught Madara's eye, yanking him roughly out of his memory, as he finished knotting his black boots. It was Hashirama's gun, the Glock 19 Madara had given him for, a birthday, an anniversary, Kami, he couldn't remember. Regardless it was there on the side table, and he had his knives strapped into place; he should be ready for a fight, for any kind of battle, but not the mission facing him. He'd fought men, four times his size, and won, over and over, but.

Izuna was coming.

Tousan was coming.

He'd heard the whispers in the hallways. He knew how fast gossip and information spread. He was excited and frightened, impatient and avoiding, he wondered what his otouto would say. Whether Izuna would believe him weak for being captured. Madara had once proclaimed himself unstoppable. The nightmare of the enemy. What was he now? A skeleton, a dead version of a once good soldier. Broken?

 **(Tobirama)**

"Hey Uchiha, stop having an existential moment. You're going to be skinny as fuck, what a shocker." Tobirama said, opening the door.

"Hn." Madara said as he looked down at the green mug Tobirama held out to him.

"Drink this. I mixed in some of the Hippie's herbs, it'll help with the jitters." Tobirama said poking his aniki's foot.

"Hmm." Hashirama said with his head still plastered against the pillow.

Tobirama glanced down, checking his watch, and stretched, wishing he'd gotten about twelve more hours of sleep, "Get dressed already."

Madara glanced at the mug. Without as much morphine in his body he seemed back to his cautious self, and he'd taken out the IV at some point during the night. "I don't need this." he finally said, with a pair of glaring black eyes and a stern line to his mouth.

"Don't be a pussy. Just drink it." Tobirama said as Hashirama sat up, rubbing his eyes like he had done when they were children. "They'll be here in a few minutes."

Scowling as he drank the tea Madara commenced staring at the door, not even acknowledging Hashi's good morning, or questions about how he slept. _Probably terrible._ Tobirama thought wondering why his aniki was dumb as a stump sometimes. _It's not like this is the first time he's slept in a bed in three years or anything. No, of course not. He's been living it up in the lap of luxury with our enemies the whole time, getting spa treatments and getting hammered every night._

"Did you speak with them?" Hashi asked after pulling on some clean clothes. "How's Tajima-sama doing?"

"The old man's as okay as he could be. I'm sure he went off and cried tears of joy and thanked Kami for all that they've given him back, but he didn't tell me about it."

"And Izu-chan?" Hashirama asked, putting a hand on Tobirama's arm.

"Uchiha-kun" he said trying hard to keep his voice calm, not jealous or protective, or anything that might indicate he had more than a professional interest in Izuna. "is currently speaking with the Kages, to get the legalities in order. You know, so Tousan can't screw anything up." Tobirama said, shoving his aniki's hand away.

"So?" Hashi asked, smiling just a little at his otouto.

"Making sure he and Uchiha-sama get custody of Porcupine while he's going through rehab."

"Are they trying to put him under house arrest? Do they think he's a flight risk?" Hashirama asked worriedly glancing toward Madara. "I mean Kami, he went through who knows what trying to get here. They can't just lock him up. He's a free citizen, and he's an Anbu member, and—"

"Hippie." Tobirama said slowly "Uchiha-kun is figuring everything out now. He texted me a few minutes ago. They're almost finished with the details. He's just having them put it down in writing so they can't subpoena Madara's ass later."

"Ehh, right sorry Toto." Hashirama replied, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull out the tangles. "It's just, you know… He— I— Well, we umm."

"Your boyfriend came back from the dead, found you banging a whore, and now he's pissed." Tobirama said with a lift of his white eyebrows. "But you love him soooo much, and he should realize you were lonely, and—"

"Shut up." Hashirama said, face beet red.

"Truth hurts doesn't it." Tobirama said with a knowing smirk.

"Damn it, why is this so hard? Why can't we all just be happy he's okay?"

"Because he's not." Tobirama answered. "I mean look at him nii-san; he's been staring at that door for twenty minutes off in some feedback loop from Hell, thinking about how his family will be coming through that door. But Kami forbid if he blinks too long or looks away, then it all might disappear. He might wake back up chained to some cave wall covered in his own shit with some asshole screaming the same damn questions they always ask even though they know he won't say a thing."

"But he's here. He's really right there, in my room, he's, he's, he's wearing my uniform and he's alive Toto." Hashirama said leaning against Tobirama for a moment.

"I know hippie. I can see; I know he's there. But," pausing for a moment to check if Izuna had sent any messages he went on. "He gave a kid a black eye for a burger. He tried to shoot your girlfriend last night. Really you're lucky he didn't accidentally kill you in your sleep."

"Madara wouldn't—" Hashirama tried to say.

"Your Mada-chan just spent three years as some terrorists' plaything. You don't know what _he'd_ do, not now."

"I get it."

"No you don't." Tobirama said looking his aniki in the eyes, "I had guards posted outside your door Hashi, all night, so that if anything went wrong they'd rush in and stop him. He's a damaged man. He needs people watching him. And I understand you just want to scream at everyone and everything that he's alive and all that mushy stuff I'm sure is in your head. But Hashi, not right now. Last night, all that hugging and nice talk, he's not processing any of it. Not really, it's just autopilot. He probably doesn't even remember how to do anything without instinct guiding the way. So yay he's not dead. Yay he's home. Yay he's going to see his family. Yay they have custody" he pointed to the screen of his phone where Izuna had sent a Hand Raised in Victory emoji. "And now it's time for the hard stuff."

 **(Madara)**

Madara frowned looking at the door impatiently waiting for what he knew must be on the other side.

Izuna was relentless, as an Uchiha should be, Madara was surprised there was no gunfire and loud cursing followed by threats of a flamethrower coming from the halls. But, no, there was only the dull drone of Tobirama's voice as he rambled on.

Rolling his eyes at the Senju brothers Madara took stock of his surroundings, one more time, just to be safe. There was the uniform-filled closet, the messy side table, the partially made bed.

Why was it taking them so long? Were they angry? Would the both of them, his father and brother, come in together? Did they mourn for him? Or were they disappointed? Did he die a hero? Or did they say he died like a coward?

"I'm going to get the door Porcupine. They're just walking up the stairs." Tobirama said taking a step in front of him. And before Madara could snarl that he would get the damn door for his family the white-haired asshole was saying. "Morning Izu… Morning Uchiha-kun."

Madara stared at the man who entered the room. But… he didn't want to accept the name. His Izuna. His otouto. His otouto who was the sharp shooter. His otouto without flaws.

But the scars... Only Madara should have scars, not his precious otouto. His otouto was the one with perfect skin, while Madara had worry lines that aged him… But, those fucking scars.

Izuna stood hand in hand with Tobirama and said. "Nii-san I, I missed you."

Madara couldn't respond. He was too preoccupied with the thoughts racing in his head. Why was his otouto hurt? Did they get him too? Izuna should be smiling. Izuna should be laughing. Why the FUCK was Izuna not smiling?

"Mada-chan" Izuna said after the silence stretched on. "I'm so happy you're home."

Madara didn't know what to do. What to say. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't comprehend. He wanted to hold Izuna. To squeeze him. His precious little otouto needed him. But Madara couldn't…

"Sorry I let him get fucked up." Tobirama responded with his stupid hand still touching Izuna, as if he had a right to be there. "We got him back around the time your team got attacked. It wasn't the same men, just a really shitty coincidence."

"Just a shitty coincidence. Do you fucking hear yourself when you speak you stupid white-haired freak?" Madara asked, turning toward Tobirama with rage in his eyes. He shoved the younger man into the wall with all his remaining might. "A shitty coincidence is when two dumb Genin show up to the coming home party in the same dress. This?! My otouto is blind! You let him get fucked up!".

Tobirama said nothing as Madara's grip tightened. His gaze was steady, and even though Madara had to be cutting off his breathing the younger man did not fight back.

"I don't care if I die from my injuries without you!" Madara yelled, his fury growing as Tobirama still said nothing. "Let's see how you like being blind you bastard!"

"Madara" Hashirama said reaching out a hand. "Izuna is alright-"

"Don't you fucking dare act like this is nothing! My otouto is blind! My otouto was hurt! My precious little brother!"

A hand grasped his forearm, and Madara whipped his head around to give the other stupid Senju a piece of his mind, but Hashirama was still standing where he'd been.

"Nii-san" Izuna said in a soft voice, "I am alright. Tobirama did everything he could."

"Alright?" Madara growled. "You can't see the fucking scars on your face."

"Nii-san" Izuna said again, his hand curled around his wrist. "I would've died if it wasn't for Tobirama."

Madara ground his teeth together. It didn't make sense. Why wasn't Izuna on Madara's side?

"Please let go of my friend Mada-chan." Izuna said with a small tug on Madara's arm.

"Friends? When the fuck did you two become friends? Last time I checked this albino idiot was beneath you."

"Please Madara just let him go." Izuna said in a cautious voice, and Madara hated that his otouto was being _careful_ around him. "I came here to talk to you"

Madara said. "He's acting like it's nothing…" Before he kneed Tobirama to the floor. "We were going to be the generation who didn't get it…" he said, his voice a little more controlled than it had been a moment before.

"Well," Izuna said. "It _was_ a coincidence, and I know, I remember."

"Whatever happened to us being superheroes?" Madara asked with a stern cast to his mouth. Once, he and Izuna had sworn that they would end it, end the cycle of hereditary disease that had stolen sight from so many in their family, even their father.

"I fired at someone to the east, and his comrade got me from the north. I should have been paying more attention. I should not have assumed that it was safe."

Madara ground his teeth. "Fuck that shit. You were a Genin. Your commanders should have kept you safe. It was their responsibility."

Izuna shrugged. "Fair enough. We got them back for it, and I didn't die so I'm okay with that."

"They should have kept you safe." Madara repeated."And _your friend_ should have saved one eye, at least." He muttered, giving the younger Senju a kick for emphasis.

"Well, Tobirama said you've still got fishing line inside you. You can only blind Toto after he's done making you better. Deal?"

Madara looked down at his otouto frowning, then nodding slightly, only to feel the guilt and rage twist inside his guts as he remembered that Izuna couldn't see any of that now.

Even if he was hurt that Izuna wasn't on his side, that Izuna seemed close to the albino idiot, he still hated that fact, that his darling otouto couldn't see anymore.

They had already lost so much. As Madara made himself look more closely at Izuna's now sightless eyes he could remember his father tripping down a brightly lit path in the middle of summer, the feel of his mother's frail hand going limp, and hear each of his brothers' final goodbyes.

"Your days are numbered Snowball." Madara finally said, looking down at Tobirama with a glare.

"We can schedule a day for you to wreck Tobirama later." Izuna said very slowly leaning into Madara's shoulder.

Madara couldn't relax into the contact, but he stood there, content to let Tobirama pick his sorry ass up off the floor, because he had his otouto.

His chest hurt, his body still felt heavy from the drugs, and whatever shit Tobirama had put in the tea, but at least Madara knew this wasn't a dream.

He looked down at Izuna, past the scars, and watched as his otouto breathed in and out. None of his hallucinations or nightmares had been this calm, or full of light coming in through the window. They'd been full of threats, punches, broken fingers, and blood.

He'd seen the terrorists drag out his loved ones over and over, maiming them, and each time Madara began to think it was done, or that Hashirama and Izuna's pain would end because they were dead the torture would just start again.

The piss poor excuse for a night's sleep he'd gotten in Hashi's bed was paradise compared to that. The building knot of anxiety was still here, but he would manage, he had to.

"Nii-san?" Izuna asked with a puzzled look coming across his face. "What's that whistling?"

Madara said "I have a neck wound-" without any inflection.

"What does that have to do with the whistling?" Izuna asked as if he already knew the answer.

"I had limited time and materials; the fishing line was there, so I used it to sew up my throat after it was sliced open."

"You sewed your own neck wound?" Izuna asked, closing his eyes for a moment. "You suture any other wounds?"

Madara spoke slowly, monotone, unable to put emphasis in his words. He couldn't allow himself emotions. If he did then other parts would have feelings. And he could not have that. "I have it sewing up a few more injuries. There is some on the inside, but I prefer that stay in there. They were the hardest to stay awake when sewing."

As Izuna demanded that Tobirama explain why Madara didn't have gangrene and what the risks of infection were Madara noticed Hashirama's pale face. The Hippie was sitting back on his bed, as if standing was too much for him right now, and his hands were clenched into fists.

Madara looked away. His otouto was here; nothing, and no one else mattered. "It's been over a year with those. If they were going to kill me I think they already would have." Pausing, trying to slow down his words, Madara looked back to Izuna's face. He touched it gently, and slowly rubbed a thumb along his cheek. "I had to come home and protect you… I came home late… I'm sorry."

"You idiot" Izuna whispered while tears streamed down his face, a few, small pinpricks of blood leaking out from the corners of his eyes. His own hand over Madara's, pressed tight, grinding bones, bones grown fragile through years without proper nutrition. "You fucking idiot" he cried. "You, you, you're not supposed to come home for me." Izuna bit his lip, whole body shaking.

Tobirama tried to say. "Izu, hey maybe we—"

"No." Izuna spat, his tone that of a sharpshooter again, not an injured sightless man, "Not another fucking word Toto." Izuna lifted his head, hand still locked on Madara's, "you don't survive for me. You, you, you"

"Do it for yourself, then you do it for the people who love you Mada-chan." Tajima said, walking into the room. "Welcome home my son." Tajima said in a grateful, but hollow voice. He walked steadily closer undeterred by the injuries on his eldest, surviving, son's body. "Madara welcome home. It's so good to see you."

Uchiha Madara shook his head, not able to listen to his father's words, unable, almost unwilling to admit that he was a son, a child, a person with a father, with a brother, or even just a person at all. It was becoming too much all the faces and voices, all the implications.

"This isn't home." he said irritated at the shaking quality of his words, showing that kind of weakness where he'd been meant death. He could die. But, but, he was with Hashirama, he was with his family. Damn it! He should feel safe.

But, it had been a long time, it had been years, it might be an act, they might think he was a traitor…

"How did, how did that happen?" Tajima asked in a shaken voice.

Madara forced his thoughts back to the present. He looked to the weather-beaten face of his Tousan, the man who'd read him and his brother's bedtimes stories, and said. "My captors had a lot of fun with me."

"Oh, oh." Tajima said unable to look away from the ragged wound.

Madara knew it was disgusting, and no amount of sterile medical stitches would ever make him pretty again.

"The men who did this." Madara said, jabbing a finger toward his throat that was aching with each word. "They're dead, and the others will be too, soon."

Madara hated pity. He hated how it would work its way inside someone he knew, respected, or even loved and twist their words. But no matter how strong his hate was, he couldn't stop the sadness from filling his Tousan's face.

Yes, it hurt to speak sometimes. It hurt to breath. But that pain just told Madara that he was alive, as cliche as it may sound. It told him that the sewing worked. That in the moment he was sure of his death he had beaten the reaper at his own game, despite the pain he went through, in order to have a new chance at living. He won!

He opened his mouth to explain, to reason with the worried faces in the room, but the choking, the suffocating feelings, were too strong.

Suddenly, the floor was rushing up to meet him as Hashirama screamed. "No! No! No!"

Spitting only helped so much as Madara saw fresh scarlet staining the washed fabric of the uniform. He tried to meet his father's gaze, but shame and the sound of Hashirama's panicked voice made him turn his head.

"Not again. We can't lose you again! Madara no!" Hashirama cried as he lunged forward to keep Madara from hitting his head against the closet door.

Madara hated to think it, but he was glad Izuna was blind at this moment. The pieces of his flesh parted, leaking dark blood. Without thinking he shoved his middle finger through the opening in his neck; he had to make room to breathe, to get some air into his lungs past the warm liquid spilling out.

Bits of fishing line kept the edges together, preventing his entire throat from opening back up, the rusted wire was still, partially doing its job as Madara fought the urge to thrash.

But still, the wheezing and gurgling that came from Madara's mouth could have made the most hardy of soldier think they were in Hell.

"Izuna get your dad in the hall." Tobirama ordered. "Now! I need space to work." he gestured toward his aniki. "Hashi stop fucking screaming and grab me…" he glanced down as he knelt beside Madara. "Never mind I got a knife." He snatched the blade from Madara's belt, using his free hand to tilt Madara's chin upward, "This will hurt you prideful son of a bitch." Tobirama said as he jabbed the knife in above and to the right of Madara's middle finger. "Should have said this was too much stimuli. And I'm supposed to be the fucking idiot."

The ringing in Madara's ears grew as he watched Izuna drag their father into the hall. He was saying something, but it was too hard to hear, really it was getting too hard to do a lot of things.

"Okay" Tobirama said, his fingers holding onto the edges of the wire, "don't kick me or anything." Then before Madara's pain-addled, oxygen-deprived brain could do anything, Tobirama twisted the knife sideways, making another incision. "Page Hiruzen!" Tobirama yelled as he began pulling the line through the new hole he'd made. "I need actual, Kami damn sutures!"

Distantly Madara could hear his father's voice, something about how Tobirama had no right to tell him what to do, that he was only a Chūnin, that he had no business operating on his son, on his Mada-chan without anesthesia.

 _Calm down_ Madara thought with a giddiness, _I won't be awake much longer._ he knew. The burn was getting to be too much, the particles of his skin being pulled apart by Tobirama's hands, as he worked on something… something.

Damn, Madara just needed more fishing line, if his fingers could just wrap around the new spool of wire they'd linked to his leg that afternoon… he could, he could… He could live if he just had some space, some space, some space to breathe.

 **(Tajima)**

There was no body, only pictures and an empty coffin, when Uchiha Tajima had buried his son.

Servicemen and women had flanked the platform where mourners came to pay their respects.

Izuna had stood with him, somehow surviving the unimaginable. But, not even that day full of loss and heartache compared to watching Madara's blood spray out across his haggard face.

"No!" Tajima screamed along with Hashirama. "No! No!"

Madara's eyes darted around the room as he jabbed his finger into the tear in his neck. Tajima's fiercest, strongest, bravest Madara lay in Hashirama's arms, his dark eyes seeing nothing as Tobirama picked up a knife.

"What are you doing?" Tajima cried as he watched Tobirama plung the knife into Madara's neck. "Stop, wait! You're going to kill him!"

"Tousan come on." Izuna said with a grimace as the sound of spurting blood and Madara's gasps for air filled the small room.

"No I'm not." Tobirama scowled.

"You just stabbed my son with a knife!" Tajima said taking a step forward, only to have his jacket grabbed by Izuna.

"Yeah I did, to save his life."

"How's that going to help? Madara can't breathe! He's suffocating! He's going to-"

Tobirama pressed his bloody fingers against Madara's throat, pulling at the torn pieces of skin, before saying, "You need to go sit the fuck down in the hallway with your other son. All you're doing right now is being a fucking distraction."

"I know it's hard, but you really do need to step back." Hashirama said cradling Madara. "We need space to work, and Sarutobi-chan will be here any minute with the supplies."

"Tousan, listen to them." Izuna said, taking Tajima's hand and pulling him back a step.

"And don't you even fucking think of coming back in here until I say so. You were a soldier once, a man who actually did what he was told. So go out there, impress me, and sit your good for nothing ass down!" Tobirama called out.

Uchiha Tajima understood Tobirama was working, but he flat out refused, with every fiber of his being, to believe that he should "sit his ass down". Not, while his son, his Madara, was in such pain.

"Tousan" Izuna said again. "Stay here with me. We need to let them help Madara. Tobirama can-"

"He has no right." Tajima said, grounding his teeth the way Madara always would.

"Me? I have no right?" Tobirama asked in a scathing tone. "So, I should let you come in here and use your _obviously superior_ medical knowledge to prevent Uchiha's carotid artery from opening up?"

"Of course not, I just- Ah, what are you doing? You don't have sutures yet!" Tajima cried as he watched Tobirama pull away the knife.

"Hmm I hadn't noticed." Came the young man's sarcastic reply.

"You have to keep him from bleeding out. That wire's not good-"

"Oh so you really are a doctor now?" Tobirama asked as he maneuvered the edges of the metal. "Please tell me more about how to save my patient. I can't wait."

"It was almost stopped, now there's even more blood." Tajima shot back, fists clenched at his sides as he walked forward into the room, ready to tear the idiotic Senju away from his son.

"Please Uchiha-sama" Hashirama said from his spot on the ground, cradling Madara in his arms. "Before the line can come out Tobirama needs to cut through some spaces. We can't just take the wire out all at once, that would rip Madara's throat completely open. This way we can extract them slowly. Tobirama is going to need to make a few more cuts before we use the sutures."

Blinking hard, Uchiha Tajima nodded, responding to the kindness in the older Senju's voice. "Please, just make him be okay. I can't lose him a second time."

"I know" Hashirama said grabbing a box of needles from the nightstand. "We'll help. Sarutobi-chan is coming from the Med Building now. I will give Madara another pain killer soon, and then we can stitch him up properly. Right now I need to fix one of his lungs that is collapsing. My otouto's got a good handle on this; it will be fine."

"I'd be better off if Porcupine's dad shut the fuck up." Tobirama growled. "You too Hashi. Stop fucking talking."

"Please ignore him Uchiha-sama."

As Hashirama plunged the needle in, Tajima counted the seconds until Madara's blood came up from the lungs and into the syringe.

Madara's blueish lips tightened, and he tried to push back with his feet, but Hashirama kept him still with a gentle hold. "Shh Sweetheart. I have you. Everything is all right now. You're home. We're all together, and you'll be okay."

"Too much talking." Tobirama muttered as he began sliding another piece of metal through the gap he'd cut. "If we'd all stuck to the plan of, "Uchiha's mentally unstable, he's on a variety of antipsychotics, keep the conversation short and positive, he wouldn't have exploded. But no, you made it emotional."

Tajima stood in the doorway of Hashirama's room staring daggers at the younger Senju. "Emotional? What would you expect? We told him that we missed him. He's been presumed dead for three years! What else could we have said?"

"Follow orders." Tobirama said in that placating monotone that had caused Madara to shove him into the wall earlier. "Speak clearly and calmly. Don't ask questions about his imprisonment, don't mention his injuries, don't agitate him."

"I was just making sure he understood that he deserves to live for himself, not some idea he's got in his head from all that he's went through!"

"That's a very honorable thing to say Uchiha-sama." Hashirama said as he scrambled to his feet. "And I agree with you, but I think my otouto is right. Madara isn't ready to hear that right now."

"I thought I was helping." Tajima said, swallowing hard. "He's my son-"

"I don't know what universe you've been living in since you left the military. But, not even being his parent gives you the right to come in and spout emotional bullshit at a paranoid, sleep-deprived, mentally ill man who just came back from a fucking war zone, after living through the Devil knows what!"

"It's hard to know what to say." Hashirama said hurriedly. "But, we'll all have time to talk with Madara and make sure he knows that he's safe and loved after Tobirama and I are done helping him."

"I will not apologize for coming to see my boy. He needed to hear what I said. He needs to know he did everything right." Tajima said swallowing down the lump forming in his throat.

"Out." Tobirama said, pointing toward the door. "Hashi, Izu-chan, take him out right now. We are not having this discussion any longer. Go stand in the fucking hall and wait for Hiruzen."

Sighing Izuna reached out and took Tajima's hand. "If you want us to leave then stop dignifying my Tousan's words with a response."

Tajima tore his gaze away from Madara's bloodied shirt, surprised that Izuna had spoken. "What are you doing? We are not-"

"Tousan" Izuna said in an irritated voice "You are making a scene. We'll help Madara more by getting out of the way." And with that Izuna's grip tightened on Tajima's hand and the young man wrenched the both of them back into the hall, and slammed the door shut.

"Me?" Tajima asked eyes wide, "causing a scene? That obnoxious brat does not understand what we've went through, what Madara's went through. And yet he talks like he does as if he knew everything."

Letting go of Tajima's hand Izuna leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor, rubbing his hands across his eyes. "He is a know-it-all. But it's for good reason. He always gets results."

Glaring at a soldier who was staring at the Uchihas from the end of the hall Tajima placed a hand on Izuna's head. "I know you trust him, but-"

"That should be enough." Izuna said, reaching up, and placing his own hand atop his father's. "Toto's insensitive, but his lack of emotional maturity lets him stay hyper focused when something is as crazy as all of that sounded."

"If it was anyone else they'd have died from those injuries." Tajima said with a mix of pride and horror.

The enemy had kept him for at least two years, if not a little longer from what Madara's first morphine-addled statement had explained. Two years of absolute torture and Hell, all for amusement. There was no ransom order, no negotiation, no nothing, just a long, awful period of time when Tajima had foolishly hoped and clung to the idea that his son was at peace, in heaven, with his wife.

But his little boy's blood was all over the floor because of men who had no soul. He wanted someone to suffer as much as Madara had, as much as Madara was suffering now while the two soldiers attempted to restore his breathing.

"Another person would've died from half those injuries." Izuna said squeezing Tajima's hand in a way that always reminded him of his wife.

Uchiha Tajima watched his youngest son, wishing he knew how to comfort and console like Izuna did, like he almost seem naturally gifted to do. "True. Though this would all be a lot easier if your pompous friend wasn't so much like his father. Emotional? Who does he take us for? I objected to his methods. That's my right as Madara's father."

"Toto isn't anything like Butsuma, I might yell and be rude, but he will save Madara, for Hashirama at least."

"He could learn a thing or two from his brother on manners."

"Hn. Everyone has their strengths Father." Izuna agreed, chuckling.

"I" his father replied, thankful that the other soldiers in the barrack were staying far away. "I don't regret coming inside. I'll never regret seeing my boy."

Izuna nodded, "Very well." he replied in the passive way they'd both grown used to, that allowed Tajima to work through his thoughts, using his youngest child as a sounding board for his emotions. "He's with good people now, it'll be alright."

"Hashirama is good." Tajima cut in, "He cares."

Izuna lifted an eyebrow, in the smallest of smirks at his father's tactful way of explaining Hashirama's endless amounts of love and acceptance for their Madara. "Yes, yes he does."

None of them talked about it much growing up, but when adulthood came, when the boys started wanting to bring others into their closeness, to build up the family that had been so dwindled by war, they all knew it wouldn't involve girls.

All Tajima wanted in the world was to see his children happy, and healthy, with families of their own. He wanted proof that all he had done in his own war time hadn't been worthless. But, damn it would be nice for Tobirama to learn some fucking social skills.

"They love each other." Izuna acknowledged quietly, and Tajima smiled at the understatement. "And Tobirama loves his brother. For that, for that he'll save Madara."

"We'll see how that love lasts through trauma and a war." he said, smiling down at his blind son, knowing the young man was rarely wrong about things. Hoping very much that there would be a happy ending for his heirs. "I won't let the world destroy our family anymore than it already has." Tajima said, pulling Izuna in close and kissing the top of his head. "Not now, now that we have him back. We will keep him this time."


End file.
